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LOOKING    BACKWARD.     2000-1887. 

A  Novel.     New  Edition,  with  a  Biographical 

Sketch  of  Mr.  Bellamy  by  Sylvester  Baxter,  and 

a  Portrait.     i2mo,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 
MISS    LUDINGTON'S    SISTER. 

A    Romance    of    Immortality.      i6mo,   $1.2$; 

paper,  50  cents. 
THE    BLINDMAN'S     WORLD,     AND    OTHER 

STORIES.     With  an  Introductory  Chapter  by 

W.  D.  Howells.     i2mo,  $1.50. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


THE 

BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

AND    OTHER  STORIES 

BY 

EDWARD    BELLAMY 

;/ 
WITH    A    PREFATORY    SKETCH    BY 

W.  D.  HOWELLS 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

,  Cambri&0e 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  BY  EMMA  S.  BELLAMY 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 
THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 1    ^ 

.  AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 30 

THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY 59 

,.THE  COLD  SNAP 89  Xp«t 

Two  DAYS'  SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT        .        .        .        .  104   l^l^ 

A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 129 

POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  .        .        .        .        .157 

A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED 192 

DESERTED 237  V 

HOOKING  WATERMELONS         .        .         .        .        .        .  264 

-»  A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE 295 

LOST 315  \ 

,  WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT 335 

AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH 366    > 

,  To  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 389    i'1 


A      ^>^    .      ,*1 

' 


WS35897 


EDWAKD   BELLAMY 

26  MARCH,   1850  —  22  MAY, 


THE  first  book  of  Edward  Bellamy's  which  I  read 
was  "  Dr.  HeidenhofFs  Process,"  and  I  thought 
it  one  of  the  finest  feats  in  the  region  of  romance 
which  I  had  known.  It  seemed  to  me  all  the 
greater  because  the  author's  imagination  wrought 
in  it  on  the  level  of  average  life,  and  built  the  • 
fabric  of  its  dream  out  of  common  clay.  The 
simple  people  and  their  circumstance  were  treated 
as  if  they  were  persons  whose  pathetic  story  he 
had  witnessed  himself,  and  he  was  merely  telling 
it.  He  wove  into  the  texture  of  their  sufferings 
and  their  sorrows  the  magic  thread  of  invention  so 
aptly  and  skillfully  that  the  reader  felt  nothing 
improbable  in  it.  One  even  felt  a  sort  of  moral 
necessity  for  it,  as  if  such  a  clue  not  only  could 
be,  but  must  be  given  for  their  escape.  It  became 
not  merely  probable,  but  imperative,  that  there 
should  be  some  means  of  extirpating  the  memory 
which  fixed  a  sin  in  lasting  remorse,  and  of  thus 
saving  the  soul  from  the  depravity  of  despair. 
When  it  finally  appeared  that  there  was  no  such 
means,  one  reader,  at  least,  was  inconsolable.  No- 


vi  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

thing  from  romance  remains  to  me  more  poignant 
than  the  pang  that  this  plain,  sad  tale  imparted. 

The  art  employed  to  accomplish  its  effect  was 
the  art  which  Bellamy  had  in  degree  so  singular 
that  one  might  call  it  supremely  his.  He  does  not 
so  much  transmute  our  every-day  reality  to  the 
substance  of  romance  as  make  the  airy  stuff  of 
dreams  one  in  quality  with  veritable  experience. 
Every  one  remembers  from  "  Looking  Backward  " 
the  allegory  which  figures  the  pitiless  prosperity  of 
the  present  conditions  as  a  coach  drawn  by  slaves 
under  the  lash  of  those  on  its  top,  who  have  them 
selves  no  firm  hold  upon  their  places,  and  some 
times  fall,  and  then,  to  save  themselves  from  being 
ground  under  the  wheels,  spring  to  join  the  slaves 
at  the  traces.  But  it  is  not  this,  vivid  and  terrible 
as  it  is,  which  most  wrings  the  heart;  it  is  that 
moment  of  anguish  at  the  close,  when  Julian 
West  trembles  with  the  nightmare  fear  that  he  has 
been  only  dreaming  of  the  just  and  equal  future, 
before  he  truly  wakes  and  finds  that  it  is  real. 
That  is  quite  as  it  would  happen  in  life,  and  the 

jx>wer  to  make  the  reader  feel  this,  like  something 

he  has  known  himself,  is  the  distinctive  virtue  of 
that  imagination  which  revived  throughout  Chris 
tendom  the  faith  in  a  millennium. 

A  good  deal  has  been  said  against  the  material 
character  of  the  happiness  which  West's  story 
promises  men  when  they  shall  begin  to  do  justice, 
and  to  share  equally  in  the  fruits  of  the  toil  which 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  vii 

operates  life  ;  and  I  confess  that  this  did  not  at 
tract  me.  I  should  have  preferred,  if  I  had  been 
chooser,  to  have  the  millennium  much  simpler, 
much  more  independent  of  modern  inventions, 
modern  conveniences,  modern  facilities.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  in  an  ideal  condition  (the  only  condition 
finally  worth  having)  we  should  get  on  without 
most  of  these  things,  which  are  but  sorry  patches 
on  the  rags  of  our  outworn  civilization,  or  only 
toys  to  amuse  our  greed  and  vacancy.  ^Estheti- 
cally,  I  sympathized  with  those  select  spirits  who 
were  shocked  that  nothing  better  than  the  futile 
luxury  of  their  own  selfish  lives  could  be  imagined 
for  the  lives  which  overwork  and  underpay  had 
forbidden  all  pleasures  ;  I  acquired  considerable 
merit  with  myself  by  asking  whether  the  hope  of 
these  formed  the  highest  appeal  to  human  nature. 
But  I  overlooked  an  important  condition  which 
the  other  critics  overlooked ;  I  did  not  reflect  that 
such  things  were  shown  as  merely  added  unto 
those  who  had  first  sought  the  kingdom  of  God 
and  his  righteousness,  and  that  they  were  no 
longer  vicious  or  even  so  foolish  when  they  were 
harmlessly  come  by.  I  have  since  had  to  own 
that  the  joys  I  thought  trivial  and  sordid  did 
rightly,  as  they  did  most  strenuously,  appeal  to 
the  lives  hitherto  starved  of  them.  In  depicting 
them  as  the  common  reward  of  the  common  en 
deavor,  Edward  Bellamy  builded  better  than  we 
knew,  whether  he  knew  better  or  not;  and  he 


viii  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

builded  from  a  thorough  sense  of  that  level  of 
humanity  which  he  was  destined  so  potently  to 
influence,  —  that  American  level  which  his  book 
found  in  every  Christian  land. 

I  am  not  sure  whether  this  sense  was  ever  a  full 
consciousness  with  him  ;  very  possibly  it  was  not ; 
but  in  any  case  it  was  the  spring  of  all  his  work, 
from  the  earliest  to  the  latest.  Somehow,  whether 
he  knew  or  not,  he  unerringly  felt  how  the  average 
man  would  feel ;  and  all  the  webs  of  fancy  that  he 
wove  were  essentially  of  one  texture  through  this 
sympathy.  His  imagination  was  intensely  demo 
cratic,  it  was  inalienably  plebeian,  even,  —  that  is 
to  say,  humane.  It  did  not  seek  distinction  of 
expression  ;  it  never  put  the  simplest  and  plainest 
reader  to  shame  by  the  assumption  of  those  fine- 
gentleman  airs  which  abash  and  dishearten  more 
than  the  mere  literary  swell  can  think.  He  would 
use  a  phrase  or  a  word  that  was  common  to  vul 
garity,  if  it  said  what  he  meant ;  sometimes  he 
sets  one's  teeth  on  edge,  in  his  earlier  stories,  by 
his  public  school  diction.  But  the  nobility  of  the 
heart  is  never  absent  from  his  work  ;  and  he  has 
always  the  distinction  of  self-forgetfulness  in  his 
art. 

I  have  been  interested,  in  recurring  to  his  ear 
lier  work,  to  note  how  almost  entirely  the  action 
passes  in  the  American  village  atmosphere.  It  is 
like  the  greater  part  of  his  own  life  in  this.  He 
was  not  a  man  ignorant  of  other  keeping.  He  was 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  ix 

partly  educated  abroad,  and  he  knew  cities  both  in 
Europe  and  in  America.  He  was  a  lawyer  by 
profession,  and  he  was  sometime  editor  of  a  daily 
newspaper  in  a  large  town.  But  I  remember  how, 
in  one  of  our  meetings,  he  spoke  with  distrust  and 
dislike  of  the  environment  of  cities  as  unwhole-  * 
some  and  distracting,  if  not  demoralizing  (very 
much  to  the  effect  of  Tolstoi's  philosophy  in  the 
matter),  and  in  his  short  stories  his  types  are  vil 
lage  types.  They  are  often  such  when  he  finds 
them  in  the  city,  but  for  much  the  greater  part  he 
finds  them  in  the  village ;  and  they  are  alway_s. 


therefore,  distinctively  American  ;  for  we  are  vil 
lage  people  far  more  than  we  are  country  people 
or  city  people.  In  this  as  in  everything  else^we~ 
are  a  medium  race,  and  it  was  in  his  sense,  if  not 
in  his  knowledge  of  this  fact,  that  Bellamy  wrote 
so  that  there  is  never  a  word  or  a  look  to  the 
reader  implying  that  he  and  the  writer  are  of 
a  different  sort  of  folk  from  the  people  in  the 
story. 

"  Looking  Backward,"  with  its  material  delights^ 
its  communized   facilities  and  luxuries,  eould  not 
appeal   to   people   on   lonely   farms  who  scarcely 
knew  of  them,  or  to  people  in  cities  who  were  tired 
of  them,  so  much  as  to  that  immense  average  of 
villagers,    of    small-town-dwellers,    who    had    read 
much  and  seen  something  of  them,  and  desired  to-, 
have  them.    This  average,  whose  intelligence  forms  *> 
the  prosperity  of  our  literature,  and  whose  virtue  I 


x  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

forms  the  strength  of  our  nation,  is  the  environ 
ment  which  Bellamy  rarely  travels  out  of  in  his 
airiest  romance.  He  has  its  curiosity,  its  princi 
ples,  its  aspirations.  He  can  tell  what  it  wishes 
to  know,  what  problem  will  hold  it,  what  situation 
it  can  enter  into,  what  mystery  will  fascinate  it, 
and  what  noble  pain  it  will  bear.  It  is  by  far  the 
widest  field  of  American  fiction  ;  most  of  our  finest 
artists  work  preferably  in  it,  but  he  works  in  it 
to  different  effect  from  any  other.  He  takes  that 
life  on  its  mystical  side,  and  deals  with  types 
rather  than  with  characters ;  for  it  is  one  of  the 
prime  conditions  of  the  romancer  that  he  shall  do 

.jthis.  His  people  are  less  objectively  than  subjec 
tively  present ;  their  import  is  greater  in  what 

^happens  to  them  than  in  what  they  are.  But  he 
never  falsifies  them  or  their  circumstance.  He 
ascertains  them  with  a  fidelity  that  seems  almost 
helpless,  almost  ignorant  of  different  people,  differ 
ent  circumstance ;  you  would  think  at  times  that 
he  had  never  known,  never  seen,  any  others  ;  but 
of  course  this  is  only  the  effect  of  his  art. 

When  it  comes  to  something  else,  however,  it  is 
still  with  the  same  fidelity  that  he  keeps  to  the 
small-town  average,  the  American  average.  He 
does  not  address  himself  more  intelligently  to  the 
mystical  side  of  this  average  in  "  Dr.  Heidenhoff's 
Process,"  or  "  Miss  Ludington's  Sister,"  or  any  of 
his  briefer  romances,  than  to  its  ethical  side  in 
u  Equality."  That  book  disappointed  me,  to  be 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  xi 

frank.  I  thought  it  artistically  inferior  to  any 
thing  else  he  had  done.  I  thought  it  was  a  mistake 
to  have  any  story  at  all  in  it,  or  not  to  have  vastly 
more.  I  felt  that  it  was  not  enough  to  clothe  the 
dry  bones  of  its  sociology  with  paper  garments 
out  of  "  Looking  Backward."  Except  for  that 
one  sublime  moment  when  the  workers  of  all  sorts 
cry  to  the  Lords  of  the  Bread  to  take  them  and 
use  them  at  their  own  price,  there  was  no  thrill 
or  throb  in  the  book.  But  I  think  now  that  any 
believer  in  its  economics  may  be  well  content  to  let 
them  take  their  chance  with  the  American  average, 
here  and  elsewhere,  in  the  form  that  the  author 
has  given  them.  He  felt  that  average  so  wittingly 
that  he  could  not  have  been  wrong  in  approach 
ing  it  with  all  that  public  school  exegesis  which 
wearies  such  dilettanti  as  myself. 

Our  average  is  practical  as  well  as  mystical ;  it 
is  first  the  dust  of  the  earth,  and  then  it  is  a  living 
soul ;  it  likes  great  questions  simply  and  familiarly 
presented,  before  it  puts  its  faith  in  them  and 
makes  its  faith  a  life.  It  likes  to  start  to  heaven 
from  home,  and  in  all  this  Bellamy  was  of  it,  vol 
untarily  and  involuntarily.  I  recall  how,  when  we 
first  met,  he  told  me  that  he  had  come  to  think  of 
our  hopeless  conditions  suddenly,  one  day,  in  look 
ing  at  his  own  children,  and  reflecting  that  he 
could  not  place  them  beyond  the  chance  of  want 
by  any  industry  or  forecast  or  providence  ;  and 
that  the  status  meant  the  same  impossibility  for 


xii  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

others  which  it  meant  for  him.  I  understood  then 
that  I  was  in  the  presence  of  a  man  too  single,  too 
sincere,  to  pretend  that  he  had  begun  by  thinking 
of  others,  and  I  trusted  him  the  more  for  his  con 
fession  of  a  selfish  premise.  He  never  went  back 
to  himself  in  his  endeavor,  but  when  he  had  once 
felt  his  power  in  the  world,  he  dedicated  his  life 
to  his  work.  He  wore  himself  out  in  thinking  and 
feeling  about  it,  with  a  belief  in  the  good  time  fcoj 
come  that  penetrated  his  whole  being  and  animated 
his  whole  purpose,  but  apparently  with  no  manner 
of  fanaticism.  In  fact,  no  one  could  see  him,  or 
look  into  his  quiet,  gentle  face,  so  full  of  goodness, 
so  full  of  common  sense,  without  perceiving  that 
he  had  reasoned  to  his  hope  for  justice  in  the 
frame  of  things.  He  was  indeed  a  most  practical, 
a  most  American  man,  without  a  touch  of  senti- 
mentalism  in  his  humanity.  He  believed  that 
some  now  living  should  see  his  dream  —  the  dream 
of  Plato,  the  dream  of  the  first  Christians,  the 
dream  of  Bacon,  the  dream  of  More  —  come  true 
in  a  really  civilized  society ;  but  he  had  the  pa 
tience  and  courage  which  could  support  any 
delay. 

These  qualities  were  equal  to  the  suffering  and 
the  death  which  came  to  him  in  the  midst  of  his 
work,  and  cut  him  off  from  writing  that  one  more 
book  with  which  every  author  hopes  to  round  his 
career.  He  suffered  greatly,  but  he  bore  his  suf 
fering  greatly ;  and  as  for  his  death,  it  is  told  that 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  xiii 

when,  toward  the  last,  those  who  loved  him  were 
loath  to  leave  him  at  night  alone,  as  he  preferred 
to  be  left,  he  asked,  "  What  can  happen  to  me  ?  ] 
I  can  only  die." 

I  am  glad  that  he  lived  to  die  at  home  in  Chico- 
pee,  —  in  the  village  environment  by  which  he  in 
terpreted  the  heart  of  the  American  nation,  and 
knew  how  to  move  it  more  than  any  other  Ameri 
can  author  who  has  lived.  !  The  theory  of  those 
who  think  differently  is  that  he  simply  moved  the 
popular  fancy  ;  and  this  may  suffice  to  explain  the 
state  of  some  people,  but  it  will  not  account  for 
the  love  and  honor  in  which  his  name  is  passion 
ately  held  by  the  vast  average,  East  and  West. 
His  fame  is  safe  with  them,  and  his  faith  is  an  ani 
mating  force  concerning  whose  effect  at  this  time 
or  some  other  time  it  would  not  be  wise  to  pro 
phesy.  Whether  his  ethics  will  keep  his  esthetics 
in  remembrance  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  am  sure 
that  one  cannot  acquaint  one's  self  with  his  merely 
artistic  work,  and  not  be  sensible  that  in  Edward  | 
Bellamy  we  were  rich  in  a  romantic  imagination  j 
surpassed  only  by  that  of  Hawthorne. 

W.   D.  HOWELLS. 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 
AND  OTHER  STORIES 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WOELD 

THE  narrative  to  which  this  note  is  introductory 
was  found  among  the  papers  of  the  late  Professor 
S.  Erastus  Larrabee,  and,  as  an  acquaintance  of 
the  gentleman  to  whom  they  were  bequeathed,  I 
was  requested  to  prepare  it  for  publication.  This 
turned  out  a  very  easy  task,  for  the  document 
proved  of  so  extraordinary  a  character  that,  if  pub 
lished  at  all,  it  should  obviously  be  without  change. 
It  appears  that  the  professor  did  really,  at  one  time 
in  his  life,  have  an  attack  of  vertigo,  or  something 
of  the  sort,  under  circumstances  similar  to  those 
described  by  him,  and  to  that  extent  his  narrative 
may  be  founded  on  fact.  How  soon  it  shifts  from 
that  foundation,  or  whether  it  does  at  all,  the 
reader  must  conclude  for  himself.  It  appears  cer 
tain  that  the  professor  never  related  to  any  one, 
while  living,  the  stranger  features  of  the  experience 
here  narrated,  but  this  might  have  been  merely 
from  fear  that  his  standing  as  a  man  of  science 
would  be  thereby  injured. 

THE  PROFESSOR'S  NARRATIVE 

At  the  time  of  the  experience  of  which  I  am 
about  to  write,  I  was  professor  of  astronomy  and 


2  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

higher  mathematics  at  Abercrombie  College.  Most 
astronomers  have  a  specialty,  and  mine  was  the 
study  of  the  planet  Mars,  our  nearest  neighbor 
but  one  in  the  Sun's  little  family.  When  no  im 
portant  celestial  phenomena  in  other  quarters  de 
manded  attention,  it  was  on  the  ruddy  disc  of  Mars 
that  my  telescope  was  oftenest  focused.  I  was 
never  weary  of  tracing  the  outlines  of  its  continents 
and  seas,  its  capes  and  islands,  its  bays  and  straits, 
its  lakes  and  mountains.  With  intense  interest  I 
watched  from  week  to  week  of  the  Martial  winter 
the  advance  of  the  polar  ice-cap  toward  the  equator, 
and  its  corresponding  retreat  in  the  summer ;  testi 
fying  across  the  gulf  of  space  as  plainly  as  written 
words  to  the  existence  on  that  orb  of  a  climate  like 
our  own.  A  specialty  is  always  in  danger  of  be 
coming  an  infatuation,  and  my  interest  in  Mars,  at 
the  time  of  which  I  write,  had  grown  to  be  more 
than  strictly  scientific.  The  impression  of  the  near 
ness  of  this  planet,  heightened  by  the  wonderful 
distinctness  of  its  geography  as  seen  through  a 
powerful  telescope,  appeals  strongly  to  the  imagina 
tion  of  the  astronomer.  On  fine  evenings  I  used 
to  spend  hours,  not  so  much  critically  observing  as 
brooding  over  its  radiant  surface,  till  I  could  almost 
persuade  myself  that  I  saw  the  breakers  dashing 
on  the  bold  shore  of  Kepler  Land,  and  heard  the 
muffled  thunder  of  avalanches  descending  the  snow- 
clad  mountains  of  Mitchell.  No  earthly  land 
scape  had  the  charm  to  hold  my  gaze  of  that  far- 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  3 

off  planet,  whose  oceans,  to  the  unpracticed  eye, 
seem  but  darker,  and  its  continents  lighter,  spots 
and  bands. 

Astronomers  have  agreed  in  declaring  that  Mars 
is  undoubtedly  habitable  by  beings  like  ourselves, 
but,  as  may  be  supposed,  I  was  not  in  a  mood  to 
be  satisfied  with  considering  it  merely  habitable.  I 
allowed  no  sort  of  question  that  it  was  inhabited. 
What  manner  of  beings  these  inhabitants  might 
be  I  found  a  fascinating  speculation.  The  variety 
of  types  appearing  in  mankind  even  on  this  small 
Earth  makes  it  most  presumptuous  to  assume  that 
the  denizens  of  different  planets  may  not  be  char 
acterized  by  diversities  far  profounder.  Wherein 
such  diversities,  coupled  with  a  general  resem 
blance  to  man,  might  consist,  whether  in  mere 
physical  differences  or  in  different  mental  laws,  in 
the  lack  of  certain  of  the  great  passional  motors  of 
men  or  the  possession  of  quite  others,  were  weird 
themes  of  never-failing  attractions  for  my  mind. 
The  El  Dorado  visions  with  which  the  virgin  mys 
tery  of  the  New  World  inspired  the  early  Spanish 
explorers  were  tame  and  prosaic  compared  with 
the  speculations  which  it  was  perfectly  legitimate 
to  indulge,  when  the  problem  was  the  conditions  of 
life  on  another  planet. 

It  was  the  time  of  the  year  when  Mars  is  most 
favorably  situated  for  observation,  and,  anxious 
not  to  lose  an  hour  of  the  precious  season,  I  had 
spent  the  greater  part  of  several  successive  nights 


4  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

in  the  observatory.  I  believed  that  I  had  made 
some  original  observations  as  to  the  trend  of  the 
coast  of  Kepler  Land  between  Lagrange  Peninsula 
and  Christie  Bay,  and  it  was  to  this  spot  that  my 
observations  were  particularly  directed. 

On  the  fourth  night  other  work  detained  me 
from  the  observing  -  chair  till  after  midnight. 
When  I  had  adjusted  the  instrument  and  took 
my  first  look  at  Mars,  I  remember  being  unable 
to  restrain  a  cry  of  admiration.  The  planet  was 
fairly  dazzling.  It  seemed  nearer  and  larger  than 
I  had  ever  seen  it  before,  and  its  peculiar  rud 
diness  more  striking.  In  thirty  years  of  obser 
vations,  I  recall,  in  fact,  no  occasion  when  the 
absence  of  exhalations  in  our  atmosphere  has  coin 
cided  with  such  cloudlessness  in  that  of  Mars  as 
on  that  night.  I  could  plainly  make  out  the  white 
masses  of  vapor  at  the  opposite  edges  of  the  lighted 
disc,  which  are  the  mists  of  its  dawn  and  evening. 
The  snowy  mass  of  Mount  Hall  over  against  Kep 
ler  Land  stood  out  with  wonderful  clearness,  and 
I  could  unmistakably  detect  the  blue  tint  of  the 
ocean  of  De  La  Rue,  which  washes  its  base,  —  a 
feat  of  vision  often,  indeed,  accomplished  by  star- 
gazers,  though  I  had  never  done  it  to  my  complete 
satisfaction  before. 

I  was  impressed  with  the  idea  that  if  I  ever 
made  an  original  discovery  in  regard  to  Mars,  it 
would  be  on  that  evening,  and  I  believed  that  I 
should  do  it.  I  trembled  with  mingled  exultation 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  5 

and  anxiety,  and  was  obliged  to  pause  to  recover 
my  self-control.  Finally,  I  placed  my  eye  to  the 
eye-piece,  and  directed  my  gaze  upon  the  portion 
of  the  planet  in  which  I  was  especially  interested. 
My  attention  soon  became  fixed  and  absorbed  much 
beyond  my  wont,  when  observing,  and  that  itself 
implied  no  ordinary  degree  of  abstraction.  To  all 
mental  intents  and  purposes  I  was  on  Mars.  Every 
faculty,  every  susceptibility  of  sense  and  intellect, 
seemed  gradually  to  pass  into  the  eye,  and  become 
concentrated  in  the  act  of  gazing.  Every  atom  of 
nerve  and  will  power  combined  in  the  strain  to  see 
a  little,  and  yet  a  little,  and  yet  a  little,  clearer, 
farther,  deeper. 

The  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  on  the  bed  that 
stood  in  a  corner  of  the  observing-room,  half  raised 
on  an  elbow,  and  gazing  intently  at  the  door.  It 
was  broad  daylight.  Half  a  dozen  men,  including 
several  of  the  professors  and  a  doctor  from  the 
village,  were  around  me.  Some  were  trying  to 
make  me  lie  down,  others  were  asking  me  what  I 
wanted,  while  the  doctor  was  urging  me  to  drink 
some  whiskey.  Mechanically  repelling  their  offices, 
I  pointed  to  the  door  and  ejaculated,  "  President 
Byxbee  —  coming,"  giving  expression  to  the  one 
idea  which  my  dazed  mind  at  that  moment  con 
tained.  And  sure  enough,  even  as  I  spoke  the 
door  opened,  and  the  venerable  head  of  the  college, 
somewhat  blown  with  climbing  the  steep  stairway, 


6  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

stood  on  the  threshold.  With  a  sensation  of  pro 
digious  relief,  I  fell  back  on  my  pillow. 

It  appeared  that  I  had  swooned  while  in  the 
observing-chair,  the  night  before,  and  had  been 
found  by  the  janitor  in  the  morning,  my  head 
fallen  forward  on  the  telescope,  as  if  still  observ 
ing,  but  my  body  cold,  rigid,  pulseless,  and  appar 
ently  dead. 

In  a  couple  of  days  I  was  all  right  again,  and 
should  soon  have  forgotten  the  episode  but  for  a 
very  interesting  conjecture  which  had  suggested 
itself  in  connection  with  it.  This  was  nothing  less 
than  that,  while  I  lay  in  that  swoon,  I  was  in 
a  conscious  state  outside  and  independent  of  the 
body,  and  in  that  state  received  impressions  and 
exercised  perceptive  powers.  For  this  extraordi 
nary  theory  I  had  no  other  evidence  than  the  fact 
of  my  knowledge  in  the  moment  of  awaking  that 
President  Byxbee  was  coming  up  the  stairs.  But 
slight  as  this  clue  was,  it  seemed  to  me  unmistak 
able  in  its  significance.  That  knowledge  was  cer 
tainly  in  my  mind  on  the  instant  of  arousing  from 
the  swoon.  It  certainly  could  not  have  been  there 
before  I  fell  into  the  swoon.  I  must  therefore 
have  gained  it  in  the  mean  time ;  that  is  to  say,  I 
must  have  been  in  a  conscious,  percipient  state 
while  my  body  was  insensible. 

If  such  had  been  the  case,  I  reasoned  that  it  was 
altogether  unlikely  that  the  trivial  impression  as 
to  President  Byxbee  had  been  the  only  one  which 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  7 

I  had  received  in  that  state.  It  was  far  more  prob 
able  that  it  had  remained  over  in  my  mind,  on 
waking  from  the  swoon,  merely  because  it  was  the 
latest  of  a  series  of  impressions  received  while  out 
side  the  body.  That  these  impressions  were  of  a 
kind  most  strange  and  startling,  seeing  that  they 
were  those  of  a  disembodied  soul  exercising  facul 
ties  more  spiritual  than  those  of  the  body,  I  could 
not  doubt.  The  desire  to  know  what  they  had 
been  grew  upon  me,  till  it  became  a  longing  which 
left  me  no  repose.  It  seemed  intolerable  that  I 
should  have  secrets  from  myself,  that  my  soul 
should  withhold  its  experiences  from  my  intellect. 
I  would  gladly  have  consented  that  the  acquisi 
tions  of  half  my  waking  lifetime  should  be  blotted 
out,  if  so  be  in  exchange  I  might  be  shown  the 
record  of  what  I  had  seen  and  known  during  those 
hours  of  which  my  waking  memory  showed  no 
trace.  None  the  less  for  the  conviction  of  its  hope 
lessness,  but  rather  all  the  more,  as  the  perversity 
of  our  human  nature  will  have  it,  the  longing  for 
this  forbidden  lore  grew  on  me,  till  the  hunger  of 
Eve  in  the  Garden  was  mine. 

Constantly  brooding  over  a  desire  that  I  felt  to 
be  vain,  tantalized  by  the  possession  of  a  clue 
which  only  mocked  me,  my  physical  condition  be 
came  at  length  affected.  My  health  was  disturbed 
and  my  rest  at  night  was  broken.  A  habit  of 
walking  in  my  sleep,  from  which  I  had  not  suf 
fered  since  childhood,  recurred,  and  caused  me  fre- 


8  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

quent  inconvenience.  Such  had  been,  in  general, 
my  condition  for  some  time,  when  I  awoke  one 
morning  with  the  strangely  weary  sensation  by 
which  my  body  usually  betrayed  the  secret  of  the 
impositions  put  upon  it  in  sleep,  of  which  otherwise 
I  should  often  Lave  suspected  nothing.  In  going 
into  the  study  connected  with  my  chamber,  I  found 
a  number  of  freshly  written  sheets  on  the  desk. 
Astonished  that  any  one  should  have  been  in  my 
rooms  while  I  slept,  I  was  astounded,  on  looking 
more  closely,  to  observe  that  the  handwriting  was 
my  own.  How  much  more  than  astounded  I  was 
on  reading  the  matter  that  had  been  set  down,  the 
reader  may  judge  if  he  shall  peruse  it.  For  these 
written  sheets  apparently  contained  the  longed-for 
but  despaired-of  record  of  those  hours  when  I  was 
absent  from  the  body.  They  were  the  lost  chapter 
of  my  life ;  or  rather,  not  lost  at  all,  for  it  had 
been  no  part  of  my  waking  life,  but  a  stolen  chap 
ter,  —  stolen  from  that  sleep-memory  on  whose 
mysterious  tablets  may  well  be  inscribed  tales  as 
much  more  marvelous  than  this  as  this  is  stranger 
than  most  stories. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  my  last  recollection 
before  awaking  in  my  bed,  on  the  morning  after 
the  swoon,  was  of  contemplating  the  coast  of  Kep 
ler  Land  with  an  unusual  concentration  of  atten 
tion.  As  well  as  I  can  judge,  —  and  that  is  no 
better  than  any  one  else,  —  it  is  with  the  moment 
that  my  bodily  powers  succumbed  and  I  became 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  9 

unconscious  that  the  narrative  which  I  found  on 
my  desk  begins. 

THE  DOCUMENT  FOUND  ON  MY  DESK 

Even  had  I  not  come  as  straight  and  swift  as 
the  beam  of  light  that  made  my  path,  a  glance 
about  would  have  told  me  to  what  part  of  the 
universe  I  had  fared.  No  earthly  landscape  could 
have  been  more  familiar.  I  stood  on  the  high 
coast  of  Kepler  Land  where  it  trends  southward. 
A  brisk  westerly  wind  was  blowing  and  the  waves 
of  the  ocean  of  De  La  Rue  were  thundering  at  my 
feet,  while  the  broad  blue  waters  of  Christie  Bay 
stretched  away  to  the  southwest.  Against  the 
northern  horizon,  rising  out  of  the  ocean  like  a 
summer  thunder-head,  for  which  at  first  I  mistook 
it,  towered  the  far-distant,  snowy  summit  of  Mount 
Hall. 

Even  had  the  configuration  of  land  and  sea  been 
less  familiar,  I  should  none  the  less  have  known 
that  I  stood  on  the  planet  whose  ruddy  hue  is  at 
once  the  admiration  and  puzzle  of  astronomers. 
Its  explanation  I  now  recognized  in  the  tint  of  the 
atmosphere,  a  coloring  comparable  to  the  haze  of 
Indian  summer,  except  that  its  hue  was  a  faint  rose 
instead  of  purple.  Like  the  Indian  summer  haze, 
it  was  impalpable,  and  without  impeding  the  view 
bathed  all  objects  near  and  far  in  a  glamour  not  to 
be  described.  As  the  gaze  turned  upward,  how 
ever,  the  deep  blue  of  space  so  far  overcame  the 


10  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

roseate  tint  that  one  might  fancy  he  were  still  on 
Earth. 

As  I  looked  about  rne  I  saw  many  men,  women, 
and  children.  They  were  in  no  respect  dissimi 
lar,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  to  the  men,  women,  and 
children  of  the  Earth,  save  for  something  almost 
childlike  in  the  untroubled  serenity  of  their  faces, 
unfurrowed  as  they  were  by  any  trace  of  care,  of 
fear,  or  of  anxiety.  This  extraordinary  youthful- 
ness  of  aspect  made  it  difficult,  indeed,  save  by 
careful  scrutiny,  to  distinguish  the  young  from  the 
middle-aged,  maturity  from  advanced  years.  Time 
seemed  to  have  no  tooth  on  Mars. 

I  was  gazing  about  me,  admiring  this  crimson- 
lighted  world,  and  these  people  who  appeared  to 
hold  happiness  by  a  tenure  so  much  firmer  than 
men's,  when  I  heard  the  words,  "  You  are  wel 
come,"  and,  turning,  saw  that  I  had  been  accosted 
by  a  man  with  the  stature  and  bearing  of  middle 
age,  though  his  countenance,  like  the  other  faces 
which  I  had  noted,  wonderfully  combined  the 
strength  of  a  man's  with  the  serenity  of  a  child's. 
I  thanked  him,  and  said,  — 

"  You  do  not  seem  surprised  to  see  me,  though  I 
certainly  am  to  find  myself  here." 

"  Assuredly  not,"  he  answered.  "  I  knew,  of 
course,  that  I  was  to  meet  you  to-day.  And  not 
only  that,  but  I  may  say  I  am  already  in  a  sense 
acquainted  with  you,  through  a  mutual  friend,  Pro 
fessor  Edgerly.  He  was  here  last  month,  and  I 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  11 

met  him  at  that  time.  We  talked  of  you  and  your 
interest  in  our  planet.  I  told  him  I  expected  you." 

"  Edgerly !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  It  is  strange  that 
he  has  said  nothing  of  this  to  me.  I  meet  him 
every  day." 

But  I  was  reminded  that  it  was  in  a  dream  that 
Edgerly,  like  myself,  had  visited  Mars,  and  on 
awaking  had  recalled  nothing  of  his  experience, 
just  as  I  should  recall  nothing  of  mine.  When  will 
man  learn  to  interrogate  the  dream  soul  of  the 
marvels  it  sees  in  its  wanderings  ?  Then  he  will 
no  longer  need  to  improve  his  telescopes  to  find  out 
the  secrets  of  the  universe. 

"Do  your  people  visit  the  Earth  in  the  same 
manner  ?  "  I  asked  my  companion. 

"  Certainly,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  there  we  find  no 
one  able  to  recognize  us  and  converse  with  us  as  I 
am  conversing  with  you,  although  myself  in  the 
waking  state.  You,  as  yet,  lack  the  knowledge  we 
possess  of  the  spiritual  side  of  the  human  nature 
which  we  share  with  you." 

"  That  knowledge  must  have  enabled  you  to  learn 
much  more  of  the  Earth  than  we  know  of  you,"  I 
said. 

"  Indeed  it  has,"  he  replied.  "  From  visitors 
such  as  you,  of  whom  we  entertain  a  concourse  con 
stantly,  we  have  acquired  familiarity  with  your 
civilization,  your  history,  your  manners,  and  even 
your  literature  and  languages.  Have  you  not 
noticed  that  I  am  talking  with  you  in  English, 


12  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

which  is  certainly  not  a  tongue  indigenous  to  this 
planet?" 

"  Among  so  many  wonders  I  scarcely  observed 
that,"  I  answered. 

"For  ages,"  pursued  my  companion,  "we  have 
been  waiting  for  you  to  improve  your  telescopes  so 
as  to  approximate  the  power  of  ours,  after  which 
communication  between  the  planets  would  be  easily 
established.  The  progress  which  you  make  is, 
however,  so  slow  that  we  expect  to  wait  ages  yet." 

"  Indeed,  I  fear  you  will  have  to,"  I  replied. 
"  Our  opticians  already  talk  of  having  reached  the 
limits  of  their  art." 

"  Do  not  imagine  that  I  spoke  in  any  spirit  of 
petulance,"  my  companion  resumed.  "  The  slow 
ness  of  your  progress  is  not  so  remarkable  to  us  as 
that  you  make  any  at  all,  burdened  as  you  are  by  a 
disability  so  crushing  that  if  we  were  in  your  place 
I  fear  we  should  sit  down  in  utter  despair." 

"  To  what  disability  do  you  refer  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  You  seem  to  be  men  like  us." 

"  And  so  we  are,"  was  the  reply,  "  save  in  one 
particular,  but  there  the  difference  is  tremendous. 
Endowed  otherwise  like  us,  you  are  destitute  of 
the  faculty  of  foresight,  without  which  we  should 
think  our  other  faculties  well-nigh  valueless." 

"  Foresight !  "  I  repeated.  "  Certainly  you  can 
not  mean  that  it  is  given  you  to  know  the  future  ?  " 

"  It  is  given  not  only  to  us,"  was  the  answer, 
"  but,  so  far  as  we  know,  to  all  other  intelligent 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  13 

beings  of  the  universe  except  yourselves.  Our 
positive  knowledge  extends  only  to  our  system  of 
moons  and  planets  and  some  of  the  nearer  foreign 
systems,  and  it  is  conceivable  that  the  remoter  parts 
of  the  universe  may  harbor  other  blind  races  like 
your  own ;  but  it  certainly  seems  unlikely  that  so 
strange  and  lamentable  a  spectacle  should  be  dupli 
cated.  One  such  illustration  of  the  extraordinary 
deprivations  under  which  a  rational  existence  may 
still  be  possible  ought  to  suffice  for  the  universe." 

"  But  no  one  can  know  the  future  except  by  in 
spiration  of  God,"  I  said. 

"  All  our  faculties  are  by  inspiration  of  God," 
was  the  reply,  "  but  there  is  surely  nothing  in  fore 
sight  to  cause  it  to  be  so  regarded  more  than  any 
other.  Think  a  moment  of  the  physical  analogy 
of  the  case.  Your  eyes  are  placed  in  the  front  of 
your  heads.  You  would  deem  it  an  odd  mistake  if 
they  were  placed  behind.  That  would  appear  to 
you  an  arrangement  calculated  to  defeat  their  pur 
pose.  Does  it  not  seem  equally  rational  that  the 
mental  vision  should  range  forward,  as  it  does  with 
us,  illuminating  the  path  one  is  to  take,  rather 
than  backward,  as  with  you,  revealing  only  the 
course  you  have  already  trodden,  and  therefore 
have  no  more  concern  with  ?  But  it  is  no  doubt  a 
merciful  provision  of  Providence  that  renders  you 
unable  to  realize  the  grotesqueness  of  your  pre 
dicament,  as  it  appears  to  us." 

"  But  the  future  is  eternal ! "  I  exclaimed. 
"  How  can  a  finite  mind  grasp  it  ?  " 


14  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

"  Our  foreknowledge  implies  only  human  facul 
ties,"  was  the  reply.  "  It  is  limited  to  our  indi 
vidual  careers  on  this  planet.  Each  of  us  foresees 
the  course  of  his  own  life,  but  not  that  of  other 
lives,  except  so  far  as  they  are  involved  with  his." 

"  That  such  a  power  as  you  describe  could  be 
combined  with  merely  human  faculties  is  more  than 
our  philosophers  have  ever  dared  to  dream,"  I  said. 
"  And  yet  who  shall  say,  after  all,  that  it  is  not 
in  mercy  that  God  has  denied  it  to  us  ?  If  it  is 
a  happiness,  as  it  must  be,  to  foresee  one's  happi 
ness,  it  must  be  most  depressing  to  foresee  one's 
sorrows,  failures,  yes,  and  even  one's  death.  For 
if  you  foresee  your  lives  to  the  end,  you  must  anti 
cipate  the  hour  and  manner  of  your  death,  —  is  it 
not  so?" 

"  Most  assuredly,"  was  the  reply.  "  Living 
would  be  a  very  precarious  business,  were  we  unin 
formed  of  its  limit.  Your  ignorance  of  the  time 
of  your  death  impresses  us  as  one  of  the  saddest 
features  of  your  condition." 

"  And  by  us,"  I  answered,  "  it  is  held  to  be  one 
of  the  most  merciful." 

"  Foreknowledge  of  your  death  would  not,  in 
deed,  prevent  your  dying  once,"  continued  my  com 
panion,  "  but  it  would  deliver  you  from  the  thou 
sand  deaths  you  suffer  through  uncertainty  whether 
you  can  safely  count  on  the  passing  day.  It  is  not 
the  death  you  die,  but  these  many  deaths  you  do  not 
die,  which  shadow  your  existence.  Poor  blindfolded 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  15 

creatures  that  you  are,  cringing  at  every  step  in  ap 
prehension  of  the  stroke  that  perhaps  is  not  to  fall 
till  old  age,  never  raising  a  cup  to  your  lips  with 
the  knowledge  that  you  will  live  to  quaff  it,  never 
sure  that  you  will  meet  again  the  friend  you  part 
with  for  an  hour,  from  whose  hearts  no  happiness 
suffices  to  banish  the  chill  of  an  ever-present  dread, 
what  idea  can  you  form  of  the  Godlike  security 
with  which  we  enjoy  our  lives  and  the  lives  of 
those  we  love !  You  have  a  saying  on  earth,  / 
'  To-morrow  belongs  to  God ; '  but  here  to-morrow 
belongs  to  us,  even  as  to-day.  To  you,  for  some 
inscrutable  purpose,  He  sees  fit  to  dole  out  life 
moment  by  moment,  with  no  assurance  that  each  is 
not  to  be  the  last.  To  us  He  gives  a  lifetime  at 
once,  fifty,  sixty,  seventy  years,  —  a  divine  gift 
indeed.  A  life  such  as  yours  would,  I  fear,  seem 
of  little  value  to  us  ;  for  such  a  life,  however  long, 
is  but  a  moment  long,  since  that  is  all  you  can 
count  on." 

"  And  yet,"  I  answered,  "  though  knowledge  of 
the  duration  of  your  lives  may  give  you  an  enviable 
feeling  of  confidence  while  the  end  is  far  off,  is  that 
not  more  than  offset  by  the  daily  growing  weight 
with  which  the  expectation  of  the  end,  as  it  draws 
near,  must  press  upon  your  minds  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,"  was  the  response,  "  death, 
never  an  object  of  fear,  as  it  draws  nearer  becomes 
more  and  more  a  matter  of  indifference  to  the  mori 
bund.  It  is  because  you  live  in  the  past  that  death 


16  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

is  grievous  to  you.  All  your  knowledge,  all  your 
affections,  all  your  interests,  are  rooted  in  the  past, 
and  on  that  account,  as  life  lengthens,  it  strength 
ens  its  hold  on  you,  and  memory  becomes  a  more 
precious  possession.  We,  on  the  contrary,  despise 
the  past,  and  never  dwell  upon  it.  Memory  with 
us,  far  from  being  the  morbid  and  monstrous 
growth  it  is  with  you,  is  scarcely  more  than  a  rudi 
mentary  faculty.  We  live  wholly  in  the  future 
and  the  present.  What  with  foretaste  and  actual 
taste,  our  experiences,  whether  pleasant  or  painful, 
are  exhausted  of  interest  by  the  time  they  are  past. 
The  accumulated  treasures  of  memory,  which  you 
relinquish  so  painfully  in  death,  we  count  no  loss 
at  all.  Our  minds  being  fed  wholly  from  the 
future,  we  think  and  feel  only  as  we  anticipate  ; 
and  so,  as  the  dying  man's  future  contracts,  there 
is  less  and  less  about  which  he  can  occupy  his 
thoughts.  His  interest  in  life  diminishes  as  the 
ideas  which  it  suggests  grow  fewer,  till  at  the  last 
death  finds  him  with  his  mind  a  tabula  rasa,  as 
with  you  at  birth.  In  a  word,  his  concern  with  life 
is  reduced  to  a  vanishing  point  before  he  is  called 
on  to  give  it  up.  In  dying  he  leaves  nothing  be 
hind." 

"  And  the  after-death,"  I  asked,  —  "  is  there  no 
fear  of  that  ?  " 

"Surely,"  was  the  reply,  "it  is  not  necessary 
for  me  to  say  that  a  fear  which  affects  only  the 
more  ignorant  on  Earth  is  not  known  at  all  to  us, 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  17 

and  would  be  counted  blasphemous.  Moreover,  as 
I  have  said,  our  foresight  is  limited  to  our  lives 
on  this  planet.  Any  speculation  beyond  them 
would  be  purely  conjectural,  and  our  minds  are 
repelled  by  the  slightest  taint  of  uncertainty.  To 
us  the  conjectural  and  the  unthinkable  may  be 
called  almost  the  same." 

"  But  even  if  you  do  not  fear  death  for  itself," 
I  said,  "  you  have  hearts  to  break.  Is  there  no 
pain  when  the  ties  of  love  are  sundered?" 

"  Love  and  death  are  not  foes  on  our  planet," 
was  the  reply.     "  There  are  no  tears  by  the  bed 
sides  of  our  dying.     The  same  beneficent  law  which 
makes  it  so  easy  for  us  to  give  up  life  forbids  us  to; 
mourn  the  friends  we  leave,  or  them  to  mourn  us. 
With  you,  it  is  the  intercourse  you  have  had  with 
friends  that  is  the  source  of  your  tenderness  for 
them.     With  us,  it  is  the  anticipation  of  the  inter 
course  we  shall  enjoy  which  is  the  foundation  of 
fondness.     As  our  friends  vanish  from  our  future 
with  the  approach  of  their  death,  the  effect  on  our . 
thoughts  and  affections  is  as  it  would  be  with  you, 
if  you  forgot  them  by  lapse  of  time.    As  our  dying  y 
friends  grow  more  and  more  indifferent  to  us,  we,/ 
by  operation  of  the  same  law  of  our  nature,  become] 
indifferent  to  them,  till  at  the  last  we  are  scarcely 
more  than  kindly  and  sympathetic  watchers  about 
the  beds  of  those  who  regard  us  equally  without! 
keen  emotions.     So  at  last  God  gently  unwinds  in 
stead  of  breaking  the  bands  that  bind  our  hearts 


18  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 


U  t0i 

Vw 


together,  and  makes  death  as  painless  to  the  sur 
viving  as  to  the  dying.  Relations  meant  to  pro 
duce  our  happiness  are  not  the  means  also  of  tor 
turing  us,  as  with  you.,/  Love  means  joy,  and  that 
r — alone,  to  us,  instead  of  blessing  our  lives  for  a  while 
only  to  desolate  them  later  on,  compelling  us  to 
pay  with  a  distinct  and  separate  pang  for  every 
thrill  of  tenderness,  exacting  a  tear  for  every 
smile." 

"  There  are  other  partings  than  those  of  death. 
Are  these,  too,  without  sorrow  for  you?  "  I  asked. 

"  Assuredly,"  was  the  reply.  "  Can  you  not  see 
that  so  it  must  needs  be  with  beings  freed  by  fore 
sight  from  the  disease  of  memory  ?  All  the  sorrow 
of  parting,  as  of  dying,  comes  with  you  from  the 
backward  vision  which  precludes  you  from  behold 
ing  your  happiness  till  it  is  past.  Suppose  your 
life  destined  to  be  blessed  by  a  happy  friendship. 
If  you  could  know  it  beforehand,  it  would  be  a 
joyous  expectation,  brightening  the  intervening 
years  and  cheering  you  as  you  traversed  desolate 
periods.  But  no ;  not  till  you  meet  the  one  who 
is  to  be  your  friend  do  you  know  of  him.  Nor  do 
you  guess  even  then  what  he  is  to  be  to  you,  that 
you  may  embrace  him  at  first  sight.  Your  meeting 
is  cold  and  indifferent.  It  is  long  before  the  fire 
is  fairly  kindled  between  you,  and  then  it  is  already 
time  for  parting.  Now,  indeed,  the  fire  burns  well, 
but  henceforth  it  must  consume  your  heartXlNot 
till  they  are  dead  or  gone  do  you  fully  realize  how 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  19 

dear  your  friends  were  and  how  sweet  was  their 
companionship.  But  we  —  we  see  our  friends  afar 
off  coming  to  meet  us,  smiling  already  in  our  eyes, 
years  before  our  ways  meet.  We  greet  them  at 
first  meeting,  not  coldly,  not  uncertainly,  but  with 
exultant  kisses,  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy.  They  enter 
at  once  into  the  full  possession  of  hearts  long 
warmed  and  lighted  for  them.  We  meet  with  that 
delirium  of  tenderness  with  which  you  part.  And 
when  to  us  at  last  the  time  of  parting  comes,  it 
only  means  that  we  are  to  contribute  to  each  other's 
happiness  no  longer.  We  are  not  doomed,  like 
you,  in  parting,  to  take  away  with  us  the  delight 
we  brought  our  friends,  leaving  the  ache  of  be 
reavement  in  its  place,  so  that  their  last  state  is 
worse  than  their  first.  Parting  here  is  like  meet-"~\ 
ing  with  you,  calm  and  unimpassioned.  The  joys 
of  anticipation  and  possession  are  the  only  food 
of  love  with  us,  and  therefore  Love  always  wears 
a  smiling  face.  With  you  he  feeds  on  dead  joys, 
past  happiness,  which  are  likewise  the  sustenance 
of  sorrow.  No  wonder  love  and  sorrow  are  so 
much  alike  on  Earth.  It  is  a  common  saying  among 
us  that,  were  it  not  for  the  spectacle  of  the  Earth, 
the  rest  of  the  worlds  would  be  unable  to  appreci 
ate  the  goodness  of  God  to  them ;  and  who  can  say 
that  this  is  not  the  reason  the  piteous  sight  is  set 
before  us  ?  " 

"  You  have  told  me  marvelous  things,"  I  said, 
after  I  had  reflected.     "  It  is,  indeed,  but  reason- 


20  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

able  that  such  a  race  as  yours  should  look  down 
with  wondering  pity  on  the  Earth.  And  yet,  be 
fore  I  grant  so  much,  I  want  to  ask  you  one  ques 
tion.  There  is  known  in  our  world  a  certain  sweet 
madness,  under  the  influence  of  which  we  forget 
all  that  is  untoward  in  our  lot,  and  would  not 
change  it  for  a  god's.  So  far  is  this  sweet  mad 
ness  regarded  by  men  as  a  compensation,  and  more 
than  a  compensation,  for  all  their  miseries  that  if 
you  know  not  love  as  we  know  it,  if  this  loss  be 
the  price  you  have  paid  for  your  divine  foresight, 
we  think  ourselves  more  favored  of  God  than  you. 
Confess  that  love,  with  its  reserves,  its  surprises, 
its  mysteries,  its  revelations,  is  necessarily  incom 
patible  with  a  foresight  which  weighs  and  measures 
every  experience  in  advance." 

/  "  Of  love's  surprises  we  certainly  know  nothing," 
j  was  the  reply.  "  It  is  believed  by  our  philosophers 
that  the  slightest  surprise  would  kill  beings  of  our 
constitution  like  lightning ;  though  of  course  this 
is  merely  theory,  for  it  is  only  by  the  study  of 
Earthly  conditions  that  we  are  able  to  form  an  idea 
of  what  surprise  is  like.  Your  power  to  endure 
the  constant  bufferings  of  the  unexpected  is  a  mat 
ter  of  supreme  amazement  to  us ;  nor,  according  to 
our  ideas,  is  there  any  difference  between  what  you 
call  pleasant  and  painful  surprises.  You  see,  then, 
that  we  cannot  envy  you  these  surprises  of  love 
which  you  find  so  sweet,  for  to  us  they  would  be 
fatal.  For  the  rest,  there  is  no  form  of  happiness 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  21 

which  foresight  is  so  well  calculated  to  enhance  ajsJ 
that  of  love.  Let  me  explain  to  you  how  this  be 
falls.  As  the  growing  boy  begins  to  be  sensible  of 
the  charms  of  woman,  he  finds  himself,  as  I  dare 
say  it  is  with  you,  preferring  some  type  of  face  and 
form  to  others.  He  dreams  oftenest  of  fair  hair, 
or  may  be  of  dark,  of  blue  eyes  or  brown.  As  the 
years  go  on,  his  fancy,  brooding  over  what  seems  to 
it  the  best  and  loveliest  of  every  type,  is  constantly 
adding  to  this  dream-face,  this  shadowy  form,  traits 
and  lineaments,  hues  and  contours,  till  at  last  the 
picture  is  complete,  and  he  becomes  aware  that 
on  his  heart  thus  subtly  has  been  depicted  the 
likeness  of  the  maiden  destined  for  his  arms. 

"  It  may  be  years  before  he  is  to  see  her,  but 
now  begins  with  him  one  of  the  sweetest  offices 
of  love,  one  to  you  unknown.  Youth  on  Earth  is 
a  stormy  period  of  passion,  chafing  in  restraint  or 
rioting  in  excess.  But  the  very  passion  whose 
awaking  makes  this  time  so  critical"wlth  you  is 
here  a^reJpjniin^_^jid-jedttO£tLiiig'  influence,  to  whose 
gentle  and  potent  sway 


dren.     The    temptations  which   lead    your   young^ 
men  astray  have  no  hold  on  a  youth  of  our  happy 
planet.     He  hoards  the  treasures  of  his  heart  for  _ 
its  coming  mistress.    Of  her  alone  he  thinks,  and  to 
her  all  his  vows  are  made.     The  thought  of  license 
would   be   treason   to    his    sovereign  lady,   whose 
right  to  all  the  revenues  of  his  being  he  joyfully 
owns.     To  rob  her,  to  abate  her  high  prerogatives, 


22  THE   BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

would  be  to  impoverish,  to  insult,  himself ;  for  she 
is  to  be  his,  and  her  honor,  her  glory,  are  his  own. 
Through  all  this  time  that  he  dreams  of  her  by 
night  and  day,  the  exquisite  reward  of  his  devotion 
is  the  knowledge  that  she  is  aware  of  him  as  he  of 
her,  and  that  in  the  inmost  shrine  of  a  maiden 
heart  his  image  is  set  up  to  receive  the  incense 
of  a  tenderness  that  needs  not  to  restrain  itself 
through  fear  of  possible  cross  or  separation. 

"  In  due  time  their  converging  lives  come  to 
gether.  The  lovers  meet,  gaze  a  moment  into  each 
other's  eyes,  then  throw  themselves  each  on  the 
other's  breast.  The  maiden  has  all  the  charms 
that  ever  stirred  the  blood  of  an  Earthly  lover,  but 
there  is  another  glamour  over  her  which  the  eyes 
of  Earthly  lovers  are  shut  to,  —  the  glamour  of 
the  future.  In  the  blushing  girl  her  lover  sees  the 
fond  and  faithful  wife,  in  the  blithe  maiden  the 
patient,  pain-consecrated  mother.  On  the  virgin's 
breast  he  beholds  his  children.  He  is  prescient, 
even  as  his  lips  take  the  first-fruits  of  hers,  of  the 
future  years  during  which  she  is  to  be  his  com 
panion,  his  ever-present  solace,  his  chief  portion  of 
God's  goodness.  We  have  read  some  of  your  ro 
mances  describing  love  as  you  know  it  on  Earth, 
and  I  must  confess,  my  friend,  we  find  them  very 
dull. 

"  I  hope,"  he  added,  as  I  did  not  at  once  speak, 
"that  I  shall  not  offend  you  by  saying  we  find 
them  also  objectionable.  Your  literature  possesses 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  23 

in  general  an  interest  for  us  in  the  picture  it  pre 
sents  of  the  curiously  inverted  life  which  the  lack 
of  foresight  compels  you  to  lead.  It  is  a  study 
especially  prized  for  the  development  of  the  imagi 
nation,  on  account  of  the  difficulty  of  conceiving 
conditions  so  opposed  to  those  of  intelligent  beings 
in  general.  But  our  women  do  not  read  your  ro 
mances.  The  notion  that  a  man  or  woman  should 
ever  conceive  the  idea  of  marrying  a  person  other 
than  the  one  whose  husband  or  wife  he  or  she  is 
destined  to  be  is  profoundly  shocking  to  our  habits 
of  thought.  No  doubt  you  will  say  that  such 
instances  are  rare  among  you,  but  if  your  novels 
are  faithful  pictures  of  your  life,  they  are  at  least 
not  unknown.  That  these  situations  are  inevitable 
under  the  conditions  of  earthly  life  we  are  well 
aware,  and  judge  you  accordingly  ;  but  it  is  need 
less  that  the  minds  of  our  maidens  should  be 
pained  by  the  knowledge  that  there  anywhere 
exists  a  world  where  such  travesties  upon  the 
sacredness  of  marriage  are  possible. 

"  There  is,  however,  another  reason  why  we  dis 
courage  the  use  of  your  books  by  our  young  people, 
and  that  is  the  profound  effect  of  sadness,  to  a  race 
accustomed  to  view  all  things  in  the  morning  glow 
of  the  future,  of  a  literature  written  in  the  past 
tense  and  relating  exclusively  to  things  that  are 
ended." 

"  And  how  do  you  write  of  things  that  are  past 
except  in  the  past  tense  ?  "  I  asked. 


24  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

"  We  write  of  the  past  when  it  is  still  the  future, 
and  of  course  in  the  future  tense,"  was  the  reply, 
f  our  historians  were  to  wait  till  after  the  events 
/  to  describe  them,  not  alone  would  nobody  care  to 
I  read  about  things  already  done,  but  the  histories 
|  themselves  would  probably  be  inaccurate ;  for 
^nernory,  as  I  have  said,  is  a  very  slightly  devel 
oped  faculty  with  us,  and  quite  too  indistinct  to 
be  trustworthy.  Should  the  Earth  ever  establish 
communication  with  us,  you  will  find  our  histories 
of  interest ;  for  our  planet,  being  smaller,  cooled 
and  was  peopled  ages  before  yours,  and  our  astro 
nomical  records  contain  minute  accounts  of  the 
Earth  from  the  time  it  was  a  fluid  mass.  Your 
geologists  and  biologists  may  yet  find  a  mine  of 
information  here." 

In  the  course  of  our  further  conversation  it 
came  out  that,  as  a  consequence  of  foresight,  some 
of  the  commonest  emotions  of  human  nature  are 
unknown  on  Mars.  They  for  whom  the  future 
has  no  mystery  can,  of  course,  know  neither  hope 
nor  fear.  Moreover,  every  one  being  assured  what 
he  shall  attain  to  and  what  not,  there  can  be  no 
such  thing  as  rivalship,  or  emulation,  or  any  sort 
of  competition  in  any  respect ;  and  therefore  all 
the  brood  of  heart-burnings  and  hatreds,  engen 
dered  on  Earth  by  the  strife  of  man  with  man,  is 
^unknown  to  the  people  of  Mars,  save  from  the 
study  of  our  planet.  When  I  asked  if  there  were 
not,  after  all,  a  lack  of  spontaneity,  of  sense  of 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  25 

freedom,  in  leading  lives  fixed  in  all  details  before 
hand,  I  was  reminded  that  there  was  no  difference 
in  that  respect  between  the  lives  of  the  people  of 
Earth  and  of  Mars,  both  alike  being  according  to 
God's  will  in  every  particular.  We  knew  that  will 
only  after  the  event,  they  before,  —  that  was  alL^ 
For  the  rest,  God  moved  them  through  their  wills 
as  He  did  us,  so  that  they  had  no  more  sense  of 
compulsion  in  what  they  did  than  we  on  Earth 
have  in  carrying  out  an  anticipated  line  of  action, 
in  cases  where  our  anticipations  chance  to  be  cor 
rect.  Of  the  absorbing  interest  which  the  study 
of  the  plan  of  their  future  lives  possessed  for  the 
people  of  Mars,  my  companion  spoke  eloquently. 
It  was,  he  said,  like  the  fascination  to  a  mathe 
matician  of  a  most  elaborate  and  exquisite  demon 
stration,  a  perfect  algebraical  equation,  with  the 
glowing  realities  of  life  in  place  of  figures  and 
symbols. 

When  I  asked  if  it  never  occurred  to  them  to 
wish  their  futures  different,  he  replied  that  such  a 
question  could  only  have  been  asked  by  one  frorn 
the  Earth.  No  one  could  have  foresight,  or  clearly 
believe  that  God  had  it,  without  realizing  that  the 
future  is  as  incapable  of  being  changed  as  the 
past.  And  not  only  this,  but  to  foresee  events 
was  to  foresee  their  logical  necessity  so  clearly 
that  to  desire  them  different  was  as  impossible  as 
seriously  to  wish  that  two  and  two  made  five  in 
stead  of  four.  No  person  could  ever  thoughtfully 


26  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

wish  anything  different,  for  so  closely  are  all 
things,  the  small  with  the  great,  woven  together 
!  by  God  that  to  draw  out  the  smallest  thread  would 
,  unravel  creation  through  all  eternity. 

While  we  had  talked  the  afternoon  had  waned, 
and  the  sun  had  sunk  below  the  horizon,  the  ro 
seate  atmosphere  of  the  planet  imparting  a  splen 
dor  to  the  cloud  coloring,  and  a  glory  to  the  land 
and  sea  scape,  never  paralleled  by  an  earthly  sun 
set.  Already  the  familiar  constellations  appearing 
in  the  sky  reminded  me  how  near,  after  all,  I  was 
to  the  Earth,  for  with  the  unassisted  eye  I  could 
not  detect  the  slightest  variation  in  their  position. 
Nevertheless,  there  was  one  wholly  novel  feature 
in  the  heavens,  for  many  of  the  host  of  asteroids 
which  circle  in  the  zone  between  Mars  and  Jupiter 
were  vividly  visible  to  the  naked  eye.  But  the 
spectacle  that  chiefly  held  my  gaze  was  the  Earth, 
swimming  low  on  the  verge  of  the  horizon.  Its 
disc,  twice  as  large  as  that  of  any  star  or  planet  as 
seen  from  the  Earth,  flashed  with  a  brilliancy  like 
that  of  Venus. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  a  lovely  sight,"  said  my  compan 
ion,  "although  to  me  always  a  melancholy  one, 
from  the  contrast  suggested  between  the  radiance 
of  the  orb  and  the  benighted  condition  of  its  inhab 
itants.  We  call  it  '  The  Blindman's  World.'  "  As 
he  spoke  he  turned  toward  a  curious  structure 
which  stood  near  us,  though  I  had  not  before  par 
ticularly  observed  it. 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  27 

"What  is  that?"  I  asked. 

"  It  is  one  of  our  telescopes,"  he  replied.  "  I 
am  going  to  let  you  take  a  look,  if  you  choose,  at 
your  home,  and  test  for  yourself  the  powers  of 
which  I  have  boasted ; "  and  having  adjusted  the 
instrument  to  his  satisfaction,  he  showed  me  where 
to  apply  my  eye  to  what  answered  to  the  eye-piece. 

I  could  not  repress  an  exclamation  of  amaze 
ment,  for  truly  he  had  exaggerated  nothing.  The 
little  college  town  which  was  my  home  lay  spread 
out  before  me,  seemingly  almost  as  near  as  when 
I  looked  down  upon  it  from  my  observatory  win 
dows.  It  was  early  morning,  and  the  village  was 
waking  up.  The  milkmen  were  going  their  rounds, 
and  workmen,  with  their  dinner-pails,  where  hurry 
ing  along  the  streets.  The  early  train  was  just 
leaving  the  railroad  station.  I  could  see  the  puffs 
from  the  smoke-stack,  and  the  jets  from  the  cylin 
ders.  It  was  strange  not  to  hear  the  hissing  of 
the  steam,  so  near  I  seemed.  There  were  the  col- 
lege  buildings  on  the  hill,  the  long  rows  of  windows 
flashing  back  the  level  sunbeams.  I  could  tell  the 
time  by  the  college  clock.  It  struck  me  that  there 
was  an  unusiial  bustle  around  the  buildings,  con 
sidering  the  earliness  of  the  hour.  A  crowd  of 
men  stood  about  the  door  of  the  observatory,  and 
many  others  were  hurrying  across  the  campus  in 
that  direction.  Among  them  I  recognized  Presi 
dent  Byxbee,  accompanied  by  the  college  janitor. 
As  I  gazed  they  reached  the  observatory,  and, 


28  THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD 

passing  through  the  group  about  the  door,  entered 
the. building.  The  president  was  evidently  going 
up  to  my  quarters.  At  this  it  flashed  over  me 
quite  suddenly  that  all  this  bustle  was  on  my 
account.  I  recalled  how  it  was  that  I  came  to  be 
on  Mars,  and  in  what  condition  I  had  left  affairs 
in  the  observatory.  It  was  high  time  I  were  back 
there  to  look  after  myself. 

Here  abruptly  ended  the  extraordinary  docu 
ment  which  I  found  that  morning  on  my  desk. 
That  it  is  the  authentic  record  of  the  conditions  of 
life  in  another  world  which  it  purports  to  be  I  do 
not  expect  the  reader  to  believe]  He  will  no  doubt 
explain  it  as  another  of  the  curious  freaks  of  som- 

.  nambulism  set  down  in  the  books.  Probably  it 
was  merely  that,  possibly  it  was  something  more. 
I  do  not  pretend  to  decide  the  question.  I  have 
told  all  the  facts  of  the  case,  and  have  no  better 
means  for  forming  an  opinion  than  the  reader. 
Nor  do  I  know,  even  if  I  fully  believed  it  the  true 
account  it  seems  to  be,  that  it  would  have  affected 
my  imagination  much  more  strongly  than  it  has. 
That  story  of  another  world  has,  in  a  word,  put  me 
out  of  joint  with  ours.  The  readiness  with  which 
my  mind  has  adapted  itself  to  the  Martial  point  of 
view  concerning  the  Earth  has  been  a  singular  ex 
perience.  The  lack  of  foresight  among  the  human 

i  faculties,  a  lack  I  had  scarcely  thought  of  before, 
now  impresses  me,  ever  more  deeply,  as  a  fact  out 


THE  BLINDMAN'S  WORLD  29 

of  harmony  with  the  rest  of  our  nature,  belying*  its 
promise,  —  a  moral  mutilation,  a  deprivation  arbi 
trary  and  unaccountable.  The  spectacle  of  a  race 
doomed  to  walk  backward,  beholding  only  what  has 
gone  by,  assured  only  of  what  is  past  and  dead, 
comes  over  me  from  time  to  time  with  a  sadly  fan 
tastical  effect  which  1  cannot  describe.  I  dream  of 
a  world  where  love  always  wears  a  smile,  where  the 
partings  are  as  tearless  as  our  meetings,  and  death 
is  king  no  more.  I  have  a  fancy,  which  I  like  to  | 
cherish,  that  the  people  of  that  happy  sphere, 
fancied  though  it  may  be,  represent  the  ideal  and 
normal  type  of  our  race,  as  perhaps  it  once  was,  as 
perhaps  it  may  yet  be  again. 


AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 


THE  air  was  tremulous  with  farewells.  The 
regiment,  recruited  within  sight  of  the  steeples  of 
Waterville,  and  for  three  months  in  camp  just 
outside  the  city,  was  to  march  the  next  morning. 
A  series  of  great  battles  had  weakened  the  Federal 
armies,  and  the  authorities  at  Washington  had 
ordered  all  available  men  to  the  front. 

The  camp  was  to  be  broken  up  at  an  early  hour, 
after  which  the  regiment  would  march  through  the 
city  to  the  depot  to  take  the  cars.  The  streets 
along  the  route  of  the  march  were  already  being 
decorated  with  flags  and  garlands.  The  city  that 
afternoon  was  full  of  soldiers  enjoying  their  last 
leave  of  absence.  The  liquor  shops  were  crowded 
with  parties  of  them  drinking  with  their  friends, 
while  others  in  threes  and  fours,  with  locked  arms, 
paraded  the  streets  singing  patriotic  songs,  some 
times  in  rather  maudlin  voices,  for  to-day  in  every 
saloon  a  soldier  might  enter,  citizens  vied  for  the 
privilege  of  treating  him  to  the  best  in  the  house. 
No  man  in  a  blue  coat  was  suffered  to  pay  for 
anything. 

For  the  most  part,  however,  the  men  were  sober 


AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM  31 

enough  over  their  leave-taking.  One  saw  every 
where  soldiers  and  civilians,  strolling  in  pairs, 
absorbed  in  earnest  talk.  They  are  brothers, 
maybe,  who  have  come  away  from  the  house  to  be 
alone  with  each  other,  while  they  talk  of  family 
affairs  and  exchange  last  charges  and  promises  as 
to  what  is  to  be  done  if  anything  happens.  Or 
perhaps  they  are  business  partners,  and  the  one 
who  has  put  the  country's  business  before  his  own 
is  giving  his  last  counsels  as  to  how  the  store  or 
the  shop  shall  be  managed  in  his  absence.  Many 
of  the  blue-clad  men  have  women  with  them,  and 
these  are  the  couples  that  the  people  oftenest  turn 
to  look  at.  The  girl  who  has  a  soldier  lover  is  the 
envy  of  her  companions  to-day  as  she  walks  by 
his  side.  Her  proud  eyes  challenge  all  who  come, 
saying,  "  See,  this  is  my  hero.  I  am  the  one  he 
loves." 

You  could  easily  tell  when  it  was  a  wife  and 
not  a  sweetheart  whom  the  soldier  had  with  him. 
There  was  no  challenge  in  the  eyes  of  the  wife. 
Young  romance  shed  none  of  its  glamour  on  the 
sacrifice  she  was  making  for  her  native  land.  It 
was  only  because  they  could  not  bear  to  sit  any 
longer  looking  at  each  other  in  the  house  that  she 
and  her  husband  had  come  out  to  walk. 

In  the  residence  parts  of  the  town  family  groups 
were  gathered  on  shady  piazzas,  a  blue-coated  fig 
ure  the  centre  of  each.  They  were  trying  to  talk 
cheerfully,  making  an  effort  even  to  laugh  a  little. 


32  AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 

Now  and  then  one  of  the  women  stole  unobserved 
from  the  circle,  but  her  bravely  smiling  face  as  she 
presently  returned  gave  no  inkling  of  the  flood  of 
tears  that  had  eased  her  heart  in  some  place  apart. 
The  young  soldier  himself  was  looking  a  little  pale 
and  nervous  with  all  his  affected  good  spirits,  and 
it  was  safe  to  guess  that  he  was  even  then  think 
ing  how  often  this  scene  would  come  before  him 
afterwards,  by  the  camp-fire  and  on  the  eve  of 
battle. 

In  ine  village  of  Upton,  some  four  or  five  miles 
out  of  Waterville,  on  a  broad  piazza  at  the  side 
of  a  house  on  the  main  street,  a  group  of  four 
persons  were  seated  around  a  tea-table. 

The  centre  of  interest  of  this  group,  as  of  so 
many  others  "that  day,  was  a  soldier.  He  looked 
not  over  twenty-five,  with  dark  blue  eyes,  dark 
hair  cut  close  to  his  head,  and  a  mustache  trimmed 
crisply  in  military  fashion.  His  uniform  set  off 
to  advantage  an  athletic  figure  of  youthful  slender- 
ness,  and  his  bronzed  complexion  told  of  long  days 
of  practice  on  the  drill-ground  in  the  school  of  the 
company  and  the  battalion.  He  wore  the  shoulder- 
straps  of  a  second  lieutenant. 

On  one  side  of  the  soldier  sat  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Morton,  his  cousin,  and  on  the  other  Miss  Bertha 
Morton,  a  kindly  faced,  middle-aged  lady,  who  was 
her  brother's  housekeeper  and  the  hostess  of  this 
occasion. 


AN  ECHO   OF  ANTIETAM  33 

The  fourth  member  of  the  party  was  a  girl  of 
nineteen  or  twenty.  She  was  a  very  pretty  girl, 
and  although  to-day  her  pallid  cheeks  and  red  and 
swollen  eyelids  would  to  other  eyes  have  detracted 
somewhat  from  her  charms,  it  was  certain  that  they 
did  not  make  her  seem  less  adorable  to  the  young 
officer,  for  he  was  her  lover,  and  was  to  march  with 
the  regiment  in  the  morning. 

Lieutenant  Philip  King  was  a  lawyer,  and  by 
perseverance  and  native  ability  had  worked  up  a 
fair  practice  for  so  young  a  man  in  and  around 
Upton.  When  he  volunteered,  he  had  to  make  up 
his  mind  to  leave  this  carefully  gathered  clientage 
to  scatter,  or  to  be  filched  from  him  by  less  patriotic 
rivals  ;  but  it  may  be  well  believed  that  this  seemed 
to  him  a  little  thing  compared  with  leaving  Grace 
Roberts,  with  the  chance  of  never  returning  to 
make  her  his  wife.  If,  indeed,  it  had  been  for 
him  to  say,  he  would  have  placed  his  happiness 
beyond  hazard  by  marrying  her  before  the  regi 
ment  marched ;  nor  would  she  have  been  averse, 
but  her  mother,  an  invalid  widow,  took  a  sensible 
rather  than  a  sentimental  view  of  the  case.  If  he 
were  killed,  she  said,  a  wife  would  do  him  no  good ; 
and  if  he  came  home  again,  Grace  would  be  wait 
ing  for  him,  and  that  ought  to  satisfy  a  reasonable 
man.  It  had  to  satisfy  an  unreasonable  one.  The 
Robertses  had  always  lived  just  beyond  the  garden 
from  the  parsonage,  and  Grace,  who  from  a  little 
girl  had  been  a  great  pet  of  the  childless  minister 


34  AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 

and  his  sister,  was  almost  as  much  at  home  there 
as  in  her  mother's  house.  When  Philip  fell  in 
love  with  her,  the  Mortons  were  delighted.  They 
could  have  wished  nothing;  better  for  either.  From 

O 

the  first  Miss  Morton  had  done  all  she  coidd  to 
make  matters  smooth  for  the  lovers,  and  the  pre 
sent  little  farewell  banquet  was  but  the  last  of 
many  meetings  she  had  prepared  for  them  at  the 
parsonage. 

Philip  had  come  out  from  camp  on  a  three-hours' 
leave  that  afternoon,  and  would  have  to  report 
again  at  half-past  seven.  It  was  nearly  that  hour 
now,  though  still  light,  the  season  being  midsum 
mer.  There  had  been  an  effort  on  the  part  of  all 
to  keep  up  a  cheerful  tone  ;  but  as  the  time  of  the 
inevitable  separation  drew  near,  the  conversation 
had  been  more  and  more  left  to  the  minister  and 
his  sister,  who,  with  observations  sometimes  a  little 
forced,  continued  to  fend  off  silence  and  the  demor 
alization  it  would  be  likely  to  bring  to  their  young 
friends.  Grace  had  been  the  first  to  drop  out 
of  the  talking,  and  Philip's  answers,  when  he  was 
addressed,  grew  more  and  more  at  random,  as  the 
meetings  of  his  eyes  with  his  sweetheart's  became 
more  frequent  and  lasted  longer. 

"  He  will  be  the  handsomest  officer  in  the  regi 
ment,  that 's  one  comfort.  Won't  he,  Grace  ? " 
said  Miss  Morton  cheerily. 

The  girl  nodded  and  smiled  faintly.  Her  eyes 
were  brimming,  and  the  twitching  of  her  lips  from 


AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM  35 

time  to  time  betrayed  how  great  was  the  effort  with 
which  she  kept  her  self-command. 

44  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Morton ;  "  but  though  he  looks 
very  well  now,  it  is  nothing  to  the  imposing  appear 
ance  he  will  present  when  he  comes  back  with  a 
colonel's  shoulder-straps.  You  should  be  thinking 
of  that,  Grace." 

"  I  expect  we  shall  hear  from  him  every  day," 
said  Miss  Morton.  "  He  will  have  no  excuse  for 
not  writing  with  all  those  envelopes  stamped  and 
addressed,  with  blank  paper  in  them,  which  Grace 
has  given  him.  You  should  always  have  three  or 
four  in  your  coat  pocket,  Phil." 

The  young  man  nodded. 

44 1  suppose  for  the  most  part  we  shall  learn  of 
you  through  Grace ;  but  you  must  n't  forget  us 
entirely,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Morton.  "We  shall 
want  to  hear  from  you  directly  now  and  then." 

44  Yes ;  I  '11  be  sure  to  write,"  Philip  replied. 

44 1  suppose  it  will  be  time  enough  to  see  the  regi 
ment  pass  if  we  are  in  our  places  by  nine  o'clock," 
suggested  Miss  Morton,  after  a  silence. 

44 1  think  so,"  said  her  brother.  44  It  is  a  great 
affair  to  break  camp,  and  I  don't  believe  the  march 
will  begin  till  after  that  time." 

44  James  has  got  us  one  of  the  windows  of  Ray 
&  Seymour's  offices,  you  know,  Philip,"  resumed 
Miss  Morton  ;  44  which  one  did  you  say,  James  ?  " 

44  The  north  one." 

44  Yes,  the  north  one,"  she  resumed.     44  They  say 


36  AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 

every  window  on  Main  Street  along  the  route  of 
the  regiment  is  rented.  Grace  will  be  with  us,  you 
know.  You  must  n't  forget  to  look  up  at  us  as  you 
go  by  "  —  as  if  the  young  man  were  likely  to ! 

He  was  evidently  not  now  listening  to  her  at  all. 
His  eyes  were  fastened  upon  the  girl's  opposite 
him,  and  they  seemed  to  have  quite  forgotten  the 
others.  Miss  Morton  and  her  brother  exchanged 
compassionate  glances.  Tears  were  in  the  lady's 
eyes.  A  clock  in  the  sitting-room  began  to  strike : 

"  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven." 

Philip  started. 

"  What  time  is  that  ?  "  he  asked,  a  little  huskily. 
No  one  replied  at  once.  Then  Mr.  Morton  said : 

"  I  am  afraid  it  struck  seven,  my  boy." 

"  I  must  leave  in  ten  minutes  then,"  said  the 
young  man,  rising  from  the  table.  The  rest  fol 
lowed  his  example. 

"  I  wonder  if  the  buggy  will  be  in  time  ?  "  said 
he. 

"  It  is  at  the  gate,"  replied  Miss  Morton.  "  I 
heard  it  drive  up  some  time  ago." 

Unmindful  of  the  others  now,  Philip  put  his  arm 
about  Grace's  waist  and  drew  her  away  to  the  end 
of  the  piazza  and  thence  out  into  the  garden. 

"  Poor  young  things,"  murmured  Miss  Morton, 
the  tears  running  down  her  cheeks  as  she  looked 
after  them.  "  It  is  pitiful,  James,  to  see  how  they 
suffer." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  minister ;    "  and   there  are  a 


AN  ECHO   OF  ANTIETAM  37 

great  many  just  such  scenes  to-day.  Ah,  well, 
as  St.  Paul  says,  we  see  as  yet  but  in  part." 

Passing  in  and  out  among  the  shrubbery,  and 
presently  disappearing  from  the  sympathetic  eyes 
upon  the  piazza,  the  lovers  came  to  a  little  summer- 
house,  and  there  they  entered.  Taking  her  wrists 
in  his  hands,  he  held  her  away  from  him,  and  his 
eyes  went  slowly  over  her  from  head  to  foot,  as  if 
he  would  impress  upon  his  mind  an  image  that 
absence  should  not  have  power  to  dim. 

"  You  are  so  beautiful,"  he  said,  "  that  in  this 
moment,  when  I  ought  to  have  all  my  courage,  you 
make  me  feel  that  I  am  a  madman  to  leave  you 
for  the  sake  of  any  cause  on  earth.  The  future  to 
most  men  is  but  a  chance  of  happiness,  and  when 
they  risk  it  they  only  risk  a  chance.  In  staking 
their  lives,  they  only  stake  a  lottery  ticket,  which 
would  probably  draw  a  blank.  But  my  ticket  has 
drawn  a  capital  prize.  I  risk  not  the  chance,  but 
the  certainty,  of  happiness.  I  believe  I  am  a  fool, 
and  if  I  am  killed,  that  will  be  the  first  thing  they 
will  say  to  me  on  the  other  side." 

"  Don't  talk  of  that,  Phil.  Oh,  don't  talk  of 
being  killed!" 

"  No,  no ;  of  course  not !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Don't 
fret  about  that;  I  shall  not  be  killed.  I've  no 
notion  of  being  killed.  But  what  a  fool  I  am  to 
waste  these  last  moments  staring  at  you  when  I 
might  be  kissing  you,  my  love,  my  love  !  "  And 
clasping  her  in  his  arms,  he  covered  her  face  with 
kisses. 


38  AN  ECHO   OF  ANTIETAM 

She  began  to  sob  convulsively. 

"  Don't,  darling ;  don't !  Don't  make  it  so  hard 
for  me,"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 

"  Oh,  do  let  me  cry,"  she  wailed.  "  It  was  so 
hard  for  me  to  hold  back  all  the  time  we  were  at 
table.  I  must  cry,  or  my  heart  will  break.  Oh, 
my  own  dear  Phil,  what  if  I  should  never  see  you 
again  !  Oh  !  Oh  !  " 

"  Nonsense,  darling,"  he  said,  crowding  down  the 
lump  that  seemed  like  iron  in  his  throat,  and  mak 
ing  a  desperate  effort  to  keep  his  voice  steady. 
"  You  will  see  me  again,  never  doubt  it.  Don't  I 
tell  you  I  am  coming  back  ?  The  South  cannot 
hold  out  much  longer.  Everybody  says  so.  I  shall 
be  home  in  a  year,  and  then  you  will  be  my  wife, 
to  be  God's  Grace  to  me  all  the  rest  of  my  life. 
Our  happiness  will  be  on  interest  till  then  ;  ten  per 
cent,  a  month  at  least,  compound  interest,  piling 
up  every  day.  Just  think  of  that,  dear  ;  don't  let 
yourself  think  of  anything  else." 

"Oh,  Phil,  how  I  love  you!"  she  cried,  throwing 
her  arms  around  his  neck  in  a  passion  of  tender 
ness.  "  Nobody  is  like  you.  Nobody  ever  was. 
Surely  God  will  not  part  us.  Surely  He  will  not. 
He  is  too  good." 

"  No,  dear,  He  will  not.  Some  day  I  shall  come 
back.  It  will  not  be  long.  Perhaps  I  shall  find 
you  waiting  for  me  in  this  same  little  summer- 
house.  Let  us  think  of  that.  It  was  here,  you 
know,  we  found  out  each  other's  secret  that  day." 


AN  ECHO   OF  ANTIETAM  89 

"  I  had  found  out  yours  long  before,"  she  said, 
faintly  smiling. 

"  Time  's  up,  Phil."  It  was  Mr.  Morton's  voice 
calling  to  them  from  the  piazza. 

"  I  must  go,  darling.     Good-by." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  yet ;  not  quite  yet,"  she  wailed, 
clinging  to  him.  "  Why,  we  have  been  here  but  a 
few  moments.  It  can't  be  ten  minutes  yet." 

Under  the  influence  of  that  close,  passionate 
embrace,  those  clinging  kisses  and  mingling  tears, 
there  began  to  come  over  Philip  a  feeling  of  weak 
ness,  of  fainting  courage,  a  disposition  to  cry  out, 
"Nothing  can  be  so  terrible  as  this.  I  will  not 
bear  it ;  I  will  not  go."  By  a  tyrannical  effort  of 
will,  against  which  his  whole  nature  cried  out,  he 
unwound  her  arms  from  his  neck  and  said  in  a 
choked  voice  :  — 

"  Darling,  this  is  harder  than  any  battle  I  shall 
have  to  fight,  but  this  is  what  I  enlisted  for.  I 
must  go." 

He  had  reached  the  door  of  the  summer-house, 
not  daring  for  honor's  sake  to  look  back,  when  a 
heartbroken  cry  smote  his  ear. 

"  You  have  n't  kissed  me  good-by  !  " 

He  had  kissed  her  a  hundred  times,  but  these 
kisses  she  apparently  distinguished  from  the  good- 
by  kiss.  He  came  back,  and  taking  her  again  in 
his  embrace,  kissed  her  lips,  her  throat,  her  bosom, 
and  then  once  more  their  lips  met,  and  in  that  kiss 
of  parting  which  plucks  the  heart  up  by  the  roots. 


40  AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 

How  strong  must  be  the  barrier  between  one  soul 
and  another  that  they  do  not  utterly  merge  in 
moments  like  that,  turning  the  agony  of  parting  to 
the  bliss  of  blended  being  ! 

Pursued  by  the  sound  of  her  desolate  sobbing, 
he  fled  away. 

The  stable-boy  held  the  dancing  horse  at  the 
gate,  and  Mr.  Morton  and  his  sister  stood  waiting 
there. 

"  Good-by,  Phil,  till  we  see  you  again,"  said 
Miss  Morton,  kissing  him  tenderly.  "  We  '11  take 
good  care  of  her  for  you." 

"  Will  you  please  go  to  her  now  ? "  he  said 
huskily.  "  She  is  in  the  summer-house.  For 
God's  sake  try  to  comfort  her." 

"Yes,  poor  boy,  I  will,"  she  answered.  He 
shook  hands  with  Mr.  Morton  and  jumped  into 
the  buggy. 

"  I  '11  get  a  furlough  and  be  back  in  a  few 
months,  maybe.  Be  sure  to  tell  her  that,"  he 
said. 

The  stable-boy  stood  aside ;  the  mettlesome  horse 
gave  a  plunge  and  started  off  at  a  three-minute 
gait.  The  boy  drew  out  his  watch  and  observed  : 
"  He  hain't  got  but  fifteen  minutes  to  git  to  camp 
in,  but  he  '11  do  it.  The  mare 's  a  stepper,  and  Phil 
King  knows  how  to  handle  the  ribbons." 

The  buggy  vanished  in  a  cloud  of  dust  around 
the  next  turn  in  the  road.  The  stable-boy  strode 
whistling  down  the  street,  the  minister  went  to  his 


AN  ECHO   OF  ANTIETAM  41 

study,  and  Miss  Morton  disappeared  in  the  shrub 
bery  in  the  direction  of  the  summer-house. 


II 

Early  next  morning  the  country  roads  leading 
into  Waterville  were  covered  with  carts  and  wag 
ons  and  carriages  loaded  with  people  coming  into 
town  to  see  the  regiment  off.  The  streets  were 
hung  with  flags  and  spanned  with  decorated  arches 
bearing  patriotic  inscriptions.  Red,  white,  and 
blue  streamers  hung  in  festoons  from  building  to 
building  and  floated  from  cornices.  The  stores 
and  places  of  business  were  all  closed,  the  side 
walks  were  packed  with  people  in  their  Sunday 
clothes,  and  the  windows  and  balconies  were  lined 
with  gazers  long  before  it  was  time  for  the  regi 
ment  to  appear.  Everybody  —  men,  women,  and 
children  —  wore  the  national  colors  in  cockades  or 
rosettes,  while  many  young  girls  were  dressed 
throughout  in  red,  white,  and  blue.  The  city 
seemed  tricked  out  for  some  rare  gala-day,  but  the 
grave  faces  of  the  expectant  throng,  and  the  sub 
dued  and  earnest  manner  which  extended  even  to 
the  older  children,  stamped  this  as  no  ordinary 
holiday. 

After  hours  of  patient  waiting,  at  last  the  word 
passes  from  mouth  to  mouth,  "  They  are  coming !  " 
Vehicles  are  quickly  driven  out  of  the  way,  and  in 
a  general  hush  all  eyes  are  turned  towards  the 


42  AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 

head  of  the  street.  Presently  there  is  a  burst  of 
martial  music,  and  the  regiment  comes  wheeling 
round  the  corner  into  view  and  fills  the  wide  street 
from  curb  to  curb  with  its  broad  front.  As  the 
blue  river  sweeps  along,  the  rows  of  polished  bay 
onets,  rising  and  falling  with  the  swinging  tread 
of  the  men,  are  like  interminable  ranks  of  foam- 
crested  waves  rolling  in  upon  the  shore.  The  im 
posing  mass,  with  its  rhythmic  movement,  gives 
the  impression  of  a  single  organism.  One  forgets 
to  look  for  the  individuals  in  it,  forgets  that  there 
are  individuals.  Even  those  who  have  brothers, 
sons,  lovers  there,  for  a  moment  almost  forget 
them  in  the  impression  of  a  mighty  whole.  The 
mind  is  slow  to  realize  that  this  great  dragon,  so 
terrible  in  its  beauty,  emitting  light  as  it  moves 
from  a  thousand  burnished  scales,  with  flaming 
crest  proudly  waving  in  the  van,  is  but  an  aggre 
gation  of  men  singly  so  feeble. 

The  hearts  of  the  lookers-on  as  they  gaze  are 
swelling  fast.  An  afflatus  of  heroism  given  forth 
by  this  host  of  self-devoted  men  communicates  it 
self  to  the  most  stolid  spectators.  The  booming 
of  the  drum  fills  the  brain,  and  the  blood  in  the 
veins  leaps  to  its  rhythm.  The  unearthly  gayety 
of  the  fife,  like  the  sweet,  shrill  song  of  a  bird 
soaring  above  the  battle,  infects  the  nerves  till  the 
idea  of  death  brings  a  scornful  smile  to  the  lips. 
yes  glaze  with  rapturous  tears  as  they  rest  upon 
the  flag.  There  is  a  thrill  of  voluptuous  sweetness 


I 


AN  ECHO   OF  ANTIETAM  43 

in  the  thought  of  dying  for  it.  Life  seems  of 
value  only  as  it  gives  Tihe  ""poorest  something  to 
sacrifice.  It  is  dying  that  makes  the  glory  of  the 
world,  and  all  other  employments  seem  but  idle 
while  the  regiment  passes. 

The  time  for  farewells  is  gone  by.  The  lucky 
men  at  the  ends  of  the  ranks  have  indeed  an 
opportunity  without  breaking  step  to  exchange 
an  occasional  hand-shake  with  a  friend  on  the  side 
walk,  or  to  snatch  a  kiss  from  wife  or  sweetheart, 
but  those  in  the  middle  of  the  line  can  only  look 
their  farewells.  Now  and  then  a  mother  intrusts 
her  baby  to  a  file-leader  to  be  passed  along  from 
hand  to  hand  till  it  reaches  the  father,  to  be  sent 
back  with  a  kiss,  or,  maybe,  perched  aloft  on  his 
shoulder,  to  ride  to  the  depot,  crowing  at  the  music 
and  clutching  at  the  gleaming  bayonets.  At  every 
such  touch  of  nature  the  people  cheer  wildly. 
From  every  window  and  balcony  the  ladies  shower 
garlands  upon  the  troops. 

Where  is  Grace  ?  for  this  is  the  Upton  company 
which  is  passing  now.  Yonder  she  stands  on  a 
balcony,  between  Mr.  Morton  and  his  sister.  She 
is  very  pale  and  the  tears  are  streaming  down  her 
cheeks,  but  her  face  is  radiant.  She  is  smiling 
through  her  tears,  as  if  there  was  no  such  thing  011 
earth  as  fear  or  sorrow.  She  has  looked  forward 
to  this  ordeal  with  harrowing  expectations,  only  to 
find  herself  at  the  trying  moment  seized  upon  and 
lifted  above  all  sense  of  personal  affliction  by  the 


44  AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 

passion^pf  self-devotion  with  which  the  air  is  elec 
tric.  Her  face  as  she  looks  down  upon  her  lover 
is  that  of  a  priestess  in  the  ecstasy  of  sacrifice. 
"He  is  saluting  with  his  sword.  Now  he  has  passed. 
With  a  great  sob  she  turns  away.  She  does  not 
care  for  the  rest  of  the  pageant.  Her  patriotism 
has  suddenly  gone.  The  ecstasy  of  .sacrifice  is 
over.  She  is  no  longer  a  priestess,  but  a  broken 
hearted  girl,  who  only  asks  to  be  led  away  to  some 
place  where  she  can  weep  till  her  lover  returns. 


in 

There  was  to  be  a  great  battle  the  next  day. 
The  two  armies  had  been  long  manoeuvring  for 
position,  and  now  they  stood  like  wrestlers  who 
have  selected  their  holds  and,  with  body  braced 
against  body,  knee  against  knee,  wait  for  the  sig 
nal  to  begin  the  struggle.  There  had  been  during 
the  afternoon  some  brisk  fighting,  but  a  common 
desire  to  postpone  the  decisive  contest  till  the  mor 
row  had  prevented  the  main  forces  from  becoming 
involved.  Philip's  regiment  had  thus  far  only 
been  engaged  in  a  few  trifling  skirmishes,  barely 
enough  to  stir  the  blood.  This  was  to  be  its 
first  battle,  and  the  position  to  which  it  had  been 
allotted  promised  a  bloody  baptism  in  the  morning. 
The  men  were  in  excellent  heart,  but  as  night  set 
tled  down,  there  was  little  or  no  merriment  to  be 
heard  about  the  camp-fires.  Most  were  gathered 


AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM  45 

in  groups,  discussing  in  low  tones  the  chances  of 
the  morrow.  Some,  knowing  that  every  fibre  of 
muscle  would  be  needed  for  the  work  before  them, 
had  wisely  gone  to  sleep,  while  here  and  there  a 
man,  heedless  of  the  talk  going  on  about  him,  was 
lying  on  his  back  staring  up  at  the  darkening  sky, 
thinking. 

As  the  twilight  deepened,  Philip  strolled  to  the 
top  of  a  little  knoll  just  out  of  the  camp  and  sat 
down,  with  a  vague  notion  of  casting  up  accounts 
a  little  in  view  of  the  final  settlement  which  very 
possibly  might  come  for  him  next  day.  But  t"Ee"\ 
inspiration  of  the  scene  around  him  soon  diverted  | 
his  mind  from  personal  engrossments.  Some  dis 
tance  down  the  lines  he  could  see  the  occasional 
flash  of  a  gun,  where  a  battery  was  lazily  shelling 
a  piece  of  woods  which  it  was  desirable  to  keep 
the  enemy  from  occupying  during  the  night.  A 
burning  barn  in  that  direction  made  a  flare  on 
the  sky.  Over  behind  the  wooded  hills  where  the 
Confederates  lay,  rockets  were  going  up,  indicat 
ing  the  exchange  of  signals  and  the  perfecting  of 
plans  which  might  mean  defeat  and  ruin  to  him 
and  his  the  next  day.  Behind  him,  within  the 
Federal  lines,  clouds  of  dust,  dimly  outlined  against 
the  glimmering  landscape,  betrayed  the  location 
of  the  roads  along  which  artillery,  cavalry,  infan 
try  were  hurrying  eagerly  forward  to  take  their 
assigned  places  for  the  morrow's  work. 

Who  said  that  men  fear  death  ?    Who  concocted 


46  AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 

that  fable  for  old  wives  ?  He  should  have  stood 
that  night  with  Philip  in  the  midst  of  a  host  of 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand  men  in  the 
full  flush  and  vigor  of  life,  calmly  and  deliberately 
making  ready  at  dawn  to  receive  death  in  its  most 
horrid  forms  at  one  another's  hands.  It  is  in  vain 
that  Eeligion  invests  the  tomb  with  terror,  and 
Philosophy,  shuddering,  averts  her  face  ;  the  nations 
turn  from  these  gloomy  teachers  to  storm  its  portals 
in  exultant  hosts,  battering  them  wide  enough  for 
thousands  to  charge  through  abreast.  The  heroic 
instinct  of  humanity  with  its  high  contempt  of  death 
is  wiser  and  truer,  never  let  us  doubt,  than  super 
stitious  terrors  or  philosophic  doubts.  It  testifies 
to  a  conviction,  deeper  than  reason,  that  man  is 
greater  than  his  seeming  self ;  to  an  underlying 
consciousness  that  his  mortal  life  is  but  an  accident 
of  his  real  existence,  the  fashion  of  a  day,  to  be 
lightly  worn  and  gayly  doffed  at  duty's  call. 

What  a  pity  it  truly  is  that  the  tonic  air  of 
battlefields  —  the  air  that  Philip  breathed  that 
night  before  Antietam  —  cannot  be  gathered  up 
and  preserved  as  a  precious  elixir  to  reinvigorate 
the  atmosphere  in  times  of  peace,  when  men  grow 
faint  of  heart  and  cowardly,  and  quake  at  thought 
of  death. 

The  soldiers  huddled  in  their  blankets  on  the 
ground  slept  far  more  soundly  that  night  before 
the  battle  than  their  men-folk  and  women-folk  in 


AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM  47 

their  warm  beds  at  home.  For  them  it  was  a 
night  of  watching,  a  vigil  of  prayers  and  tears. 
The  telegraph  in  those  days  made  of  the  nation  an 
intensely  sensitive  organism,  with  nerves  a  thou 
sand  miles  long.  Ere  its  echoes  had  died  away, 
every  shot  fired  at  the  front  had  sent  a  tremor  to 
the  anxious  hearts  at  home.  The  newspapers  and 
bulletin  boards  in  all  the  towns  and  cities  of  the 
North  had  announced  that  a  great  battle  would 
surely  take  place  the  next  day,  and,  as  the  night 
closed  in,  a  mighty  cloud  of  prayer  rose  from 
innumerable  firesides,  the  self-same  prayer  from 
each,  that  he  who  had  gone  from  that  home  might 
survive  the  battle,  whoever  else  must  fall. 

The  wife,  lest  her  own  appeal  might  fail,  taught 
her  cooing  baby  to  lisp  the  father's  name,  think 
ing  that  surely  the  Great  Father's  heart  would  not 
be  able  to  resist  a  baby's  prayer.  The  widowed 
mother  prayed  that  if  it  were  consistent  with  God's 
will  he  would  spare  her  son.  She  laid  her  heart, 
pierced  through  with  many  sorrows,  before  Him. 
She  had  borne  so  much,  life  had  been  so  hard,  her 
boy  was  all  she  had  to  show  for  so  much  endured, 
—  might  not  this  cup  pass?  Pale,  impassioned 
maids,  kneeling  by  their  virgin  beds,  wore  out  the 
night  with  an  importunity  that  would  not  be  put 
off.  Sure  in  their  great  love  and  their  little  know 
ledge  that  no  case  could  be  like  theirs,  they  be- 
seeched  God  with  bitter  weeping  for  their  lovers' 
lives,  because,  forsooth,  they  could  not  bear  it  if 


48  AN  ECHO  OP  ANTIETAM 

hurt  came  to  them.  The  answers  to  many  thou 
sands  of  these  agonizing  appeals  of  maid  and  wife 
and  mother  were  already  in  the  enemy's  cartridge- 
boxes. 

IV 

The  day  came.  The  dispatches  in  the  morning 
papers  stated  that  the  armies  would  probably  be 
engaged  from  an  early  hour. 

Who  that  does  not  remember  those  battle-sum 
mers  can  realize  from  any  telling  how  <bo  fathers 
and  mothers,  the  wives  and  sisters  and  sweethearts 
at  home,  lived  through  the  days  when  it  was  known 
that  a  great  battle  was  going  on  at  the  front  in 
which  their  loved  ones  were  engaged  ?  It  was 
very  quiet  in  the  house  on  those  days  of  battle. 
All  spoke  in  hushed  voices  and  stepped  lightly. 
The  children,  too  small  to  understand  the  meaning 
of  the  shadow  on  the  home,  felt  it  and  took  their 
noisy  sports  elsewhere.  There  was  little  conver 
sation,  except  as  to  when  definite  news  might  be 
expected.  The  household  work  dragged  sadly,  for 
though  the  women  sought  refuge  from  thought  in 
occupation,  they  were  constantly  dropping  whatever 
they  had  in  hand  to  rush  away  to  their  chambers 
to  face  the  presentiment,  perhaps  suddenly  borne 
in  upon  them  with  the  force  of  a  conviction,  that 
they  might  be  called  on  to  bear  the  worst.  The 
table  was  set  for  the  regular  meals,  but  there  was 
little  pretense  of  eating.  The  eyes  of  all  had  a 


AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM  49 

far-off  expression,  and  they  seemed  barely  to  see 
one  another.  There  was  an  intent,  listening  look 
upon  their  faces,  as  if  they  were  hearkening  to  the 
roar  of  the  battle  a  thousand  miles  away. 

Many  pictures  of  battles  have  been  painted,  but 
no  true  one  yet,  for  the  pictures  contain  only  men. 
The  women  are  unaccountably  left  out.  We  ought 
to  see  not  alone  the  opposing  lines  of  battle  writh 
ing  and  twisting  in  a  death  embrace,  the  batteries 
smoking  and  flaming,  the  hurricanes  of  cavalry, 
but  innumerable  women  also,  spectral  forms  of  mo 
thers,  wives,  sweethearts,  clinging  about  the  necks 
of  the  advancing  soldiers,  vainly  trying  to  shield 
them  with  their  bosoms,  extending  supplicating 
hands  to  the  foe,  raising  eyes  of  anguish  to  Heaven. 
The  soldiers,  grim-faced,  with  battle-lighted  eyes, 
do  not  see  the  ghostly  forms  that  throng  them,  but 
shoot  and  cut  and  stab  across  and  through  them 
as  if  they  were  not  there,  —  yes,  through  them,  for 
few  are  the  balls  and  bayonets  that  reach  their 
marks  without  traversing  some  of  these  devoted 
breasts.  Spectral,  alas,  is  their  guardianship,  but 
real  are  their  wounds  and  deadly  as  any  the  com 
batants  receive. 

Soon  after  breakfast  on  the  day  of  the  battle 
Grace  came  across  to  the  parsonage,  her  swollen 
eyes  and  pallid  face  telling  of  a  sleepless  night. 
She  could  not  bear  her  mother's  company  that  day, 
for  she  knew  that  she  had  never  greatly  liked 
Philip.  Miss  Morton  was  very  tender  and  sym- 


50  AN  ECHO   OF  ANTIETAM 

pathetic.  Grace  was  a  little  comforted  by  Mr. 
Morton's  saying  that  commonly  great  battles  did 
not  open  much  before  noon.  It  was  a  respite  to 
be  able  to  think  that  probably  up  to  that  moment 
at  least  no  harm  had  come  to  Philip.  In  the  early 
afternoon  the  .  minister  drove  into  Waterville  to 
get  the  earliest  bulletins  at  the  "  Banner  "  office, 
leaving  the  two  women  alone. 

The  latter  part  of  the  afternoon  a  neighbor  who 
had  been  in  Waterville  drove  by  the  house,  and 
Miss  Morton  called  to  him  to  know  if  there  were 
any  news  yet.  He  drew  a  piece  of  paper  from  his 
pocket,  on  which  he  had  scribbled  the  latest  bulle 
tin  before  the  "  Banner "  office,  and  read  as  fol 
lows  :  "  The  battle  opened  with  a  vigorous  attack 
by  our  right.  The  enemy  was  forced  back,  stub 
bornly  contesting  every  inch  of  ground.  General 

's  division  is  now  bearing  the  brunt  of  the 

fight  and  is  suffering  heavily.  The  result  is  yet 
uncertain." 

The  division  mentioned  was  the  one  in  which 
Philip's  regiment  was  included.  "  Is  suffering 
heavily,"  —  those  were  the  words.  There  was 
something  fearful  in  the  way  the  present  tense 
brought  home  to  Grace  a  sense  of  the  battle  as 
then  actually  in  progress.  It  meant  that  while  she 
sat  there  on  the  shady  piazza  with  the  drowsy  hum 
of  the  bees  in  her  ears,  looking  out  on  the  quiet 
lawn  where  the  house  cat,  stretched  on  the  grass, 
kept  a  sleepy  eye  on  the  birds  as  they  flitted  in  the 


AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM  51 

branches  of  the  apple-trees,  Philip  might  be  facing 
a  storm  of  lead  and  iron,  or,  maybe,  blent  in  some 
desperate  hand-to-hand  struggle,  was  defending  his 
life  —  her  life  —  against  murderous  cut  and  thrust. 

To  begin  to  pray  for  his  safety  was  not  to  dare 
to  cease,  for  to  cease  would  be  to  withdraw  a  sort 
of  protection  —  all,  alas  !  she  could  give  —  and 
abandon  him  to  his  enemies.  If  she  had  been 
watching  over  him  from  above  the  battle,  an  actual 
witness  of  the  carnage  going  on  that  afternoon  on 
the  far-off  field,  she  could  scarcely  have  endured  a 
more  harrowing  suspense  from  moment  to  moment. 
Overcome  with  the  agony,  she  threw  herself  on  the 
sofa  in  the  sitting-room  and  lay  quivering,  with  her 
face  buried  in  the  pillow,  while  Miss  Morton  sat 
beside  her,  stroking  her  hair  and  saying  such 
feeble,  soothing  words  as  she  might. 

It  is  always  hard,  and  for  ardent  temperaments 
almost  impossible,  to  hold  the  mind  balanced  in 
a  state  of  suspense,  yielding  overmuch  neither  to 
hope  nor  to  fear,  under  circumstances  like  these. 
As  a  relief  to  the  torture  which  such  a  state  of  ten 
sion  ends  in  causing,  the  mind  at  length,  if  it  can 
not  abandon  itself  to  hope,  embraces  even  despair. 
About  five  o'clock  Miss  Morton  was  startled  by  an 
exceeding  bitter  cry.  Grace  was  sitting  upon  the 
sofa.  "  Oh,  Miss  Morton ! "  she  cried,  bursting 
into  tears  which  before  she  had  not  been  able  to 
shed,  "  he  is  dead  !  " 

"  Grace  !  Grace  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 


52  AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 

"  Pie  is  dead,  I  know  he  is  dead ! "  wailed  the 
girl ;  and  then  she  explained  that  while  from 
moment  to  moment  she  had  sent  up  prayers  for 
him,  every  breath  a  cry  to  God,  she  suddenly  had 
been  unable  to  pray  more,  and  this  she  felt  was  a 
sign  that  petition  for  his  life  was  now  vain.  Miss 
Morton  strove  to  convince  her  that  this  was  but 
an  effect  of  overwrought  nerves,  but  with  slight 
success. 

In  the  early  evening  Mr.  Morton  returned  with 
the  latest  news  the  telegraph  had  brought.  The 
full  scope  of  the  result  was  not  yet  known.  The 
advantage  had  probably  remained  with  the  Na 
tional  forces,  although  the  struggle  had  been  one 
of  those  close  and  stubborn  ones,  with  scanty  lau 
rels  for  the  victors,  to  be  expected  when  men  of 
one  race  meet  in  battle.  The  losses  on  both  sides 
had  been  enormous,  and  the  report  was  confirmed 
that  Philip's  division  had  been  badly  cut  up. 

The  parsonage  was  but  one  of  thousands  of 
homes  in  the  land  where  no  lamps  were  lighted 
that  evening,  the  members  of  the  household  sitting 
together  in  the  dark,  —  silent,  or  talking  in  low 
tones  of  the  far-away  star-lighted  battlefield,  the 
anguish  of  the  wounded,  the  still  heaps  of  the 
dead. 

Nevertheless,  when  at  last  Grace  went  home  she 
was  less  entirely  despairing  than  in  the  afternoon. 
Mr.  Morton,  in  his  calm,  convincing  way,  had 
shown  her  the  groundlessness  of  her  impression 


AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM  53 

that  Philip  was  certainly  dead,  and  had  enabled 
her  again  to  entertain  hope.  It  no  longer  rose, 
indeed,  to  the  height  of  a  belief  that  he  had  es 
caped  wholly  scathless.  In  face  of  the  terrible 
tidings,  that  would  have  been  too  presumptuous. 
But  perhaps  he  had  been  only  wounded.  Yester 
day  the  thought  would  have  been  insupportable, 
but  now  she  was  eager  to  make  this  compromise 
with  Providence.  She  was  distinctly  affected  by 
the  curious  superstition  that  if  we  voluntarily  con 
cede  something  to  fate,  while  yet  the  facts  are 
not  known,  we  gain  a  sort  of  equitable  assurance 
against  a  worse  thing.  It  was  settled,  she  told 
herself,  that  she  was  not  to  be  overcome  or  even 
surprised  to  hear  that  Philip  was  wounded,  — 
slightly  wounded.  She  was  no  better  than  other 
women,  that  he  should  be  wholly  spared. 

The  paper  next  morning  gave  many  names  of 
officers  who  had  fallen,  but  Philip's  was  not  among 
them.  The  list  was  confessedly  incomplete ;  nev 
ertheless,  the  absence  of  his  name  was  reassuring. 
Grace  went  across  the  garden  after  breakfast  to 
talk  with  Miss  Morton  about  the  news  and  the 
auspicious  lack  of  news.  Her  friend's  cheerful 
tone  infused  her  with  fresh  courage.  To  one  who 
has  despaired,  a  very  little  hope  goes  to  the  head 
like  wine  to  the  brain  of  a  faster,  and,  though  still 
very  tremulous,  Grace  could  even  smile  a  little 
now  and  was  almost  cheerful.  Secretly  already 
she  was  beginning  to  play  false  with  fate,  and,  in 


54  AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 

flat  repudiation  of  her  last  night's  compact,  to 
indulge  the  hope  that  her  soldier  had  not  been 
even  wounded.  But  this  was  only  at  the  bottom 
of  her  heart.  She  did  not  own  to  herself  that  she 
really  did  it.  She  felt  a  little  safer  not  to  break 
the  bargain  yet. 

About  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  Mr.  Morton 
came  in.  His  start  and  look  of  dismay  on  seeing 
Grace  indicated  that  he  had  expected  to  find  his 
sister  alone.  He  hastily  attempted  to  conceal  an 
open  telegram  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  but  it 
was  too  late.  Grace  had  already  seen  it,  and  what 
ever  the  tidings  it  might  contain,  there  was  no 
longer  any  question  of  holding  them  back  or  ex 
tenuating  them.  Miss  Morton,  after  one  look  at 
her  brother's  face,  silently  came  to  the  girl's  side 
and  put  her  arms  around  her  waist.  "  Christ,  our 
Saviour,"  she  murmured,  "  for  thy  name's  sake, 
help  her  now."  Then  the  minister  said :  — 

"  Try  to  be  brave,  try  to  bear  it  worthily  of  him ; 
for,  my  poor  little  girl,  your  sacrifice  has  been 
accepted.  He  fell  in  a  charge  at  the  head  of  his 
men." 


Philip's  body  was  brought  home  for  burial,  and 
the  funeral  was  a  great  event  in  the  village.  Busi 
ness  of  all  kinds  was  suspended,  and  all  the  people 
united  in  making  of  the  day  a  solemn  patriotic  fes 
tival.  Mr.  Morton  preached  the  funeral  sermon. 


AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM  55 

"Oh,  talk  about  the  country,"  sobbed  Grace, 
when  he  asked  her  if  there  was  anything  in  par 
ticular  she  would  like  him  to  speak  of. 

"  For  pity's  sake  don't  let  me  feel  sorry  now 
that  I  gave  him  up  for  the  Union.  Don't  leave 
me  now  to  think  it  would  have  been  better  if  I  had 
not  let  him  go." 

So  he  preached  of  the  country,  as  ministers 
sometimes  did  preach  in  those  days,  making  it 
very  plain  that  in  a  righteous  cause  men  did  well 
to  die  for  their  native  land  and  their  women  did 
well  to  give  them  up.  Expounding  the  lofty  wis 
dom  of  self-sacrifice,  he  showed  how  truly  it  was 
said  that  "  whosoever  will  save  his  life  shall  lose  it : 
and  whosoever  will  lose  his  life  .  .  .  shall  find  it," 
and  how  none  make  such  rich  profit  out  of  their 
lives  as  the  heroes  who  seem  to  throw  them  away. 

They  had  come,  he  told  the  assembled  people, 
to  mourn  no  misadventure,  no  misfortune;  this 
dead  soldier  was  not  pitiable.  He  was  no  victim 
of  a  tear-compelling  fate.  No  broken  shaft  typified 
his  career.  He  was  rather  one  who  had  done  well 
for  himself,  a  wise  young  merchant  of  his  blood, 
who  having  seen  a  way  to  barter  his  life  at  incredi 
ble  advantage,  at  no  less  a  rate  indeed  than  a  man's 
for  a  nation's,  had  not  let  slip  so  great  an  oppor 
tunity. 

So  he  went  on,  still  likening  the  life  of  a  man 
to  the  wares  of  a  shopkeeper,  worth  to  him  only 
what  they  can  be  sold  for  and  a  loss  if  overkept, 


56  AN  ECHO   OF  ANTIETAM 

till  those  who  listened  began  to  grow  ill  at  ease 
in  presence  of  that  flag-draped  coffin,  and  were 
vaguely  troubled  because  they  still  lived. 

Then  he  spoke  of  those  who  had  been  bereaved. 
This  soldier,  he  said,  like  his  comrades,  had  staked 
for  his  country  not  only  his  own  life  but  the  earthly 
happiness  of  others  also,  having  been  fully  empow 
ered  by  them  to  do  so.  /Some  had  staked  with 
their  own  lives  the  happiness  of  parents,  some  that 
of  wives  and  children,  others  maybe  the  hopes  of 
maidens  pledged  to  them.  In  offering  up  their 
lives  to  their  country  they  had  laid  with  them  upon 
the  altar  these  other  lives  which  were  bound  up 
with  theirs,  and  the  same  fire  of  sacrifice  had  con 
sumed  them  both.  A  few  day&  before,  in  the  storm 
of  battle,  those  who  had  gone  forth  had  fulfilled 
their  share  of  the  joint  sacrifice.  In  a  thousand 

-^^^fc-»*V  " 

homes,  with  tears  and  the  anguish  of  breaking 
hearts,  those  who  had  sent  them  forth  were  that 
day  fulfilling  theirs.  Let  them  now  in  their  ex 
tremity  seek  support  in  the  same  spirit  of  patriotic 
devotion  which  had  upheld  their  heroes  in  the  hour 
of  death.  As  they  had  been  lifted  above  fear  by 
the  thought  that  it  was  for  their  country  they  were 
dying,  not  less  should  those  who  mourned  them 
find  inspiration  in  remembering  it  was  for  the  na 
tion's  sake  that  their  tears  were  shed,  and  for  the 
country  that  their  hearts  were  broken.  It  had 
been  appointed  that  half  in  blood  of  men  and  half 
in  women's  tears  the  ransom  of  the  people  should 


AN  ECHO   OF   ANTIETAM  57 

be  paid,  so  that  their  sorrow  was  not  in  vain,  but 
for  the  healing  of  the  nation. 

It  behooved  these,  therefore,  to  prove  worthy  of 
their  high  calling  of  martyrdom,  and  while  they 
must  needs  weep,  not  to  weep  as  other  women 
wept,  with  hearts  bowed  down,  but  rather  with 
uplifted  faces,  adopting  and  ratifying,  though  it 
might  be  with  breaking  hearts,  this  exchange  they 
had  made  of  earthly  happiness  for  the  life  of  their 
native  land.  So  should  they  honor  those  they^ 
mourned,  and  be  joined  with  them  not  only  in  sac 
rifice  but  in  the  spirit  of  sacrifice. 

So  it  was  in  response  to  the  appeal  of  this 
stricken  girl  before  him  that  the  minister  talked 
of  the  country,  and  to  such  purpose  was  it  that  the 
piteous  thing  she  had  dreaded,  the  feeling,  now 
when  it  was  forever  too  late,  that  it  would  have 
been  better  if  she  had  kept  her  lover  back,  found 
no  place  in  her  heart.  There  was,  indeed,  had  she 
known  it,  no  danger  at  all  that  she  would  be  left 
to  endure  that,  so  long  as  she  dreaded  it,  for  the 
only  prayer  that  never  is  unanswered  is  the  prayer 
to  be  lifted  above  self.  So  to  pray  and  so  to  wish 
is  but  to  cease  to  resist  the  divine  gravitations  ever 
pulling  at  the  soul.  As  the  minister  discoursed  of 
the  mystic  gain  of  self-sacrifice,  the  mystery  of 
which  he  spoke  was  fulfilled  in  her  heart.  She 
appeared  to  stand  in  some  place  overarching  life 
and  death,  and  there  was  made  partaker  of  an  ex 
ultation  whereof  if  religion  and  philosophy  might 


58  AN  ECHO  OF  ANTIETAM 

but  catch  and  hold  the  secret,  their  ancient  quest 
ere  over. 

Gazing  through  streaming  eyes  upon  the  coffin 
of  her  lover,  she  was  able  freely  to  consent  to  the 
sacrifice  of  her  own  life  which  he  had  made  in 
giving  up  his  own. 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PAETY 

"  AND  now  what  shall  we  do  next  Wednesday 
evening?"  said  Jessie  Hyde,  in  a  business-like  tone. 
"  It  is  your  turn,  Henry,  to  suggest." 

Jessie  was  a  practical,  energetic  young  lady, 
whose  blue  eyes  never  relapsed  into  the. dreaminess 
to  which  that  color  is  subject.  She  furnished  the 
"  go  "  for  the  club.  Especially  she  furnished  the 
"  go  "  for  Henry  Long,  who  had  lots  of  ideas,  but 
without  her  to  stir  him  up  was  as  dull  as  a  flint 
without  a  steel. 

There  were  six  in  the  club,  and  all  were  present 
to-night  in  Jessie's  parlor.  The  evening  had  been 
given  to  a  little  music,  a  little  dancing,  a  little 
card-playing,  and  a  good  deal  of  talking.  It  was 
near  the  hour  set  by  the  club  rule  for  the  adjourn 
ment  of  its  reunions,  and  the  party  had  drawn  their 
chairs  together  to  consult  upon  the  weekly  recur 
ring  question,  what  should  be  done  at  the  next 
meeting  by  way  of  special  order  of  amusement. 
The  programmes  were  alternately  reading,  singing, 
dancing,  whist;  varied  with  evenings  of  miscel 
laneous  sociality  like  that  which  had  just  passed. 
The  members  took  turns  in  suggesting  recreations. 
To-night  it  was  Henry  Long's  turn,  and  to  him 


60  THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY 

accordingly  the  eyes  of  the  group  turned  at  Jessie's 
question. 

"  Let 's  have  an  old  folks'  party,"  was  his  an 
swer. 

Considering  that  all  of  the  club  were  yet  at 
ages  when  they  celebrated  their  birthdays  with  the 
figure  printed  on  the  cake,  the  suggestion  seemed 
sufficiently  irrelevant. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Frank  Hays,  "  we  shall 
have  to  stay  at  home." 

Frank  was  an  alert  little  fellow,  with  a  jaunty 
air,  to  whom,  by  tacit  consent,  all  the  openings  for 
jokes  were  left,  as  he  had  a  taste  that  way. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Henry?"  inquired  George 
Townsley,  a  thick-set,  sedate  young  man,  with  an 
intelligent,  but  rather  phlegmatic  look. 

"  My  idea  is  this,"  said  Henry,  leaning  back  in 
his  chair,  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  head, 
and  his  long  legs  crossed  before  him.  "Let  us 
dresa  up  to  resemble  what  we  expect  to  look  like 
fifty  years  hence,  and  study  up  our  demeanor  to 
correspond  with  what  we  expect  to  be  and  feel  like 
at  that  time,  and  just  call  on  Mary  next  Wednes 
day  evening  to  talk  over  old  times,  and  recall 
what  we  can,  if  anything,  of  our  vanished  youth, 
and  the  days  when  we  belonged  to  the  social  club 
at  C ." 

The  others  seemed  rather  puzzled  in  spite  of  the 
explanation.  Jessie  sat  looking  at  Henry  in  a 
brown  study  as  she  traced  out  his  meaning. 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY  61 

"You  mean  a  sort  of  ghost  party,"  said  she 
finally ;  "  ghosts  of  the  future,  instead  of  ghosts  of 
the  past." 

"  That 's  it  exactly,"  answered  he.  "  Ghosts  of 
the  future  are  the  only  sort  worth  heeding.  Appari 
tions  of  things  past  are  a  very  unpractical  sort  of 
demonology,  in  my  opinion,  compared  with  appari 
tions  of  things  to  come." 

"  How  in  the  world  did  such  an  odd  idea  come 
into  your  head?"  asked  pretty  Nellie  Tyrrell, 
whose  dancing  black  eyes  were  the  most  piquant 
of  interrogation  points,  with  which  it  was  so  de 
lightful  to  be  punctured  that  people  were  gen 
erally  slow  to  gratify  her  curiosity. 

"  I  was  beginning  a  journal  this  afternoon,"  said 
Henry, "  and  the  idea  of  Henry  Long,  aetat.  seventy, 
looking  over  the  leaves,  and  wondering  about  the 
youth  who  wrote  them  so  long  ago,  came  up  to 
my  mind." 

Henry's  suggestion  had  set  them  all  thinking, 
and  the  vein  was  so  unfamiliar  that  they  did  not 
at  once  find  much  to  say. 

"  I  should  think,"  finally  remarked  George, 
"  that  such  an  old  folks'  party  would  afford  a 
chance  for  some  pretty  careful  study,  and  some 
rather  good  acting." 

"  Fifty  years  will  make  us  all  not  far  from 
seventy.  What  shall  we  look  like  then,  I  wonder  ?  " 
musingly  asked  Mary  Fellows. 

She  was  the  demurest,  dreamiest  of  the  three 


62  THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY 

girls  ;  the  most  of  a  woman,  and  the  least  of  a 
talker.  She  had  that  poise  and  repose  of  manner 
which  are  necessary  to  make  silence  in  company 
graceful. 

"  We  may  be  sure  of  one  thing,  anyhow,  and 
that  is,  that  we  shall  not  look  and  feel  at  all  as  we 
do  now,"  said  Frank.  "  I  suppose,"  he  added, 
"  if,  by  a  gift  of  second  sight,  we  could  see  to 
night,  as  in  a  glass,  what  we  shall  be  at  seventy, 
we  should  entirely  fail  to  recognize  ourselves,  and 
should  fall  to  disputing  which  was  which." 

"  Yes,  and  we  shall  doubtless  have  changed  as 
much  in  disposition  as  in  appearance,"  added 
Henry.  "  Now,  for  one,  I  've  no  idea  what  sort 
of  a  fellow  my  old  man  will  turn  out.  I  don't 
believe  people  can  generally  tell  much  better  what 
sort  of  old  people  will  grow  out  of  them  than 
what  characters  their  children  will  have.  A  little 
better,  perhaps,  but  not  much.  Just  think  how 
different  sets  of  faculties  and  tastes  develop  and 
decay,  come  into  prominence  and  retire  into  the 
background,  as  the  years  pass.  A  trait  scarcely 
noticeable  in  youth  tinges  the  whole  man  in 
age." 

"  What  striking  dramatic  effects  are  lost  because 
the  drama  of  life  is  spun  out  so  long  instead  of 
having  the  ends  brought  together,"  observed 
George.  "The  spectators  lose  the  force  of  the 
contrasts  because  they  forget  the  first  part  of 
every  role  before  the  latter  part  is  reached.  One 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY  63 

fails  in  consequence  to  get  a  realizing  sense  of  the 
sublime  inconsistencies  of  every  lifetime." 

"  That  difficulty  is  what  we  propose,  in  a  small 
way,  to  remedy  next  Wednesday  night,"  replied 
Henry. 

Mary  professed  some  scruples.  It  was  so  queer, 
she  thought  it  must  be  wrong.  It  was  like  tempt 
ing  Providence  to  take  for  granted  issues  in  his 
hands,  and  masquerade  with  uncreated  things  like 
their  own  yet  unborn  selves.  But  Frank  reminded 
her  that  the  same  objection  would  apply  to  any 
arrangement  as  to  what  they  should  do  next  week. 

"  Well,  but,"  offered  Jessie,  "  is  it  quite  respect 
ful  to  make  sport  of  old  folks,  even  if  they  are 
ourselves  ?  " 

"My  conscience  is  clear  on  that  point,"  said 
Frank.  "  It 's  the  only  way  we  can  get  even  with 
them  for  the  deprecating,  contemptuous  way  in 
which  they  will  allude  to  us  over  their  snuff  and 
tea,  as  callow  and  flighty  youth,  if  indeed  they 
deign  to  remember  us  at  all,  which  is  n't  likely." 

"  I  'm  all  tangled  up  in  my  mind,"  said  Nellie, 
with  an  air  of  perplexity,  "  between  these  old  peo 
ple  you  are  talking  about  and  ourselves.  Which 
is  which?  It  seems  odd  to  talk  of  them  in  the 
third  person,  and  of  ourselves  in  the  first.  Are  n't 
they  ourselves  too  ?  " 

"  If  they  are,  then  certainly  we  are  not,"  replied 
Henry.  "  You  may  take  your  choice. 

"  The  fact   is,"  he  added,   as  she   looked   still 


64  THE   OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY 

more  puzzled,  "there  are  half  a  dozen  of  each 
one  of  us,  or  a  dozen  if  you  please,  one  in  fact  for 
each  epoch  of  life,  and  each  slightly  or  almost 
wholly  different  from  the  others.  Each  one  of 
these  epochs  is  foreign  and  inconceivable  to  the 
others,  as  ourselves  at  seventy  now  are  to  us.  It 's 
as  hard  to  suppose  ourselves  old  as  to  imagine 
swapping  identities  with  another.  And  when  we 
get  old  it  will  be  just  as  hard  to  realize  that  we 
were  ever  young.  So  that  the  different  periods  of 
life  are  to  all  intents  and  purposes  different  per 
sons,  and  the  first  person  of  grammar  ought  to  be 
used  only  with  the  present  tense.  What  we  were, 
or  shall  be,  or  do,  belongs  strictly  to  the  third 
person." 

"  You  would  make  sad  work  of  grammar  with 
that  notion,"  said  Jessie,  smiling. 

"Grammar  needs  mending  just  there,"  replied 
Henry.  "  The  three  persons  of  grammar  are 
really  not  enough.  A  fourth  is  needed  to  distin 
guish  the  ego  of  the  past  and  future  from  the  pre 
sent  ego,  which  is  the  only  true  one." 

"  Oh,  you  're  getting  altogether  too  deep  for 
me,"  said  Jessie.  "  Come,  girls,  what  in  the  world 
are  we  going  to  get  to  wear  next  Wednesday?" 

"  Sure  enough ! "  cried  they  with  one  accord, 
while  the  musing  look  in  their  eyes  gave  place  to 
a  vivacious  and  merry  expression. 

"  My  mother  is  n't  near  as  old  as  we  're  going 
to  be.  Her  things  won't  do,"  said  Nellie. 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY  65 

"  Nor  mine,"  echoed  Jessie  ;  "  but  perhaps 
Mary's  grandmother  will  let  us  have  some  of  her 
things." 

"In  that  case,"  suggested  Frank,  "it  will  be 
only  civil  to  invite  her  to  the  party." 

"  To  be  sure,  why  not?  "  agreed  Jessie.  "  It  is 
to  be  an  '  old  folks'  '  party,  and  her  presence  will 
give  a  reality  to  the  thing." 

"  I  don't  believe  she  '11  come,"  said  George. 
"  You  see  being  old  is  dead  earnest  to  her,  and 
she  won't  see  the  joke." 

But  Mary  said  she  would  ask  her  anyway,  and 
so  that  was  settled. 

"  My  father  is  much  too  large  in  the  waist  for 
his  clothes  to  be  of  any  service  to  me,"  said  George 
lugubriously. 

But  Frank  reminded  him  that  this  was  a  hint 
as  to  his  get-up,  and  that  he  must  stuff  with  pil 
lows  that  the  proverb  might  be  fulfilled,  "Like 
father  like  son." 

And  then  they  were  rather  taken  aback  by 
Henry's  obvious  suggestion  that  there  was  no  tell 
ing  what  the  fashion  in  dress  would  be  in  A.  D. 
1925,  "  even  if,"  he  added,  "  the  scientists  leave  us 
any  A.  D.  by  that  time,"  though  Frank  remarked 
here  that  A.  D.  would  answer  just  as  well  as  Anno 
worst  came  to  worst.  But  it  was 


decided  that  there  was  no  use  trying  after  pro 
phetical  accuracy  in  dress,  since  it  was  out  of  the 
question,  and  even  if  attainable  would  not  suggest 


66  THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY 

age  to  their  own  minds  as  would  the  elderly  weeds 
which  they  were  accustomed  to  see. 

"  It 's  rather  odd,  is  n't  it,"  said  Jessie  gravely, 
"  that  it  did  n't  occur  to  anybody  that  in  all  prob 
ability  not  over  one  or  two  of  us  at  most  will  be 
alive  fifty  years  hence." 

"  Let 's  draw  lots  for  the  two  victims,  and  the 
rest  of  us  will  appear  as  ghosts,"  suggested  Frank 
grimly. 

"  Poor  two,"  sighed  Nellie.  "  I  'm  sorry  for 
them.  How  lonely  they  will  be.  I'm  glad  I 
have  n't  got  a  very  good  constitution." 

But  Henry  remarked  that  Jessie  might  have 
gone  further  and  said  just  as  truly  that  none  of 
them  would  survive  fifty  years,  or  even  ten. 

"  We  may,  some  of  us,  escape  the  pang  of  dying 

/    as  long  as  that,"  said  he,  "  but  that  is  but  a  trifle, 

» /     and  not  a  necessary  incident  of  death.    The  essence 

of  mortality  is  change,  and  we  shall  be  changed. 

Ten   years   will    see    us   very   different    persons. 

What  though  an  old  dotard  calling  himself  Henry 

Long  is  stumping  around  fifty  years  hence,  what 

is   that  to  me?     I   shall  have  been  dead  a  half 

(     century  by  that  time." 

"  The  old  gentleman  you  speak  so  lightly  of  will 
probably  think  more  tenderly  of  you  than  you  do 
of  him,"  said  Jessie. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  answered  Henry.  "In 
fact,  if  we  were  entirely  true  to  nature  next 
Wednesday,  it  would  spoil  the  fun,  for  we  prob- 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY  67 

ably  should  not,  if  actually  of  the  age  we  pretend, 
think  of  our  youth  once  a  year,  much  less  meet  to 
talk  it  over." 

«  Oh,  I  don't  think  so,"  protested  Nellie.  "  I  'm 
sure  all  the  story-books  and  poetry  say  that  old 
folks  are  much  given  to  reviewing  their  youth  in  a 
pensive,  regretful  sort  of  way." 

"  That 's  all  very  pretty,  but  it 's  all  gammon  in  j 
my  opinion,"  responded  Henry.  "  The  poets  are 
young  people  who  know  nothing  of  how  old  folks 
feel,  and  argue  only  from  their  theory  of  the 
romantic  fitness  of  things.  I  believe  that  remi 
niscence  takes  up  a  very  small  part  of  old  persons' 
time.  It  would  furnish  them  little  excitement,  for 
they  have  lost  the  feelings  by  which  their  mem 
ories  would  have  to  be  interpreted  to  become  vivid. 
Remembering  is  dull  business  at  best.  I  notice 
that  most  persons,  even  of  eventful  lives,  prefer 
a  good  novel  to  the  pleasures  of  recollection.  It 
is  really  easier  to  sympathize  with  the  people  in 
a  novel  or  drama  than  with  our  past  selves.  We 
lose  a  great  source  of  recreation  just  because  we  I 
can't  recall  the  past  more  vividly." 

"How  shockingly  Henry  contradicts  to-night," 
was  the  only  reply  Nellie  deigned  to  this  long 
speech. 

"What  shall  we  call  each  other  next  Wednes 
day  ? "  asked  Mary.  "  By  our  first  names,  as 
now?" 

"  Not  if  we  are  going  to  be  prophetically  accu- 


68  THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY 

rate,"  said  Henry.  "Fifty  years  hence,  in  all 
probability,  we  shall,  most  of  us,  have  altogether 
forgotten  our  present  intimacies  and  formed  others, 
quite  inconceivable  now.  I  can  imagine  Frank 
over  there,  scratching  his  bald  head  with  his  spec 
tacle  tips,  and  trying  to  recall  me.  '  Hen.  Long, 
Hen.  Long,  —  let  me  think ;  name  sounds  familiar, 
and  yet  I  can't  quite  place  him.  Did  n't  I  know 

him  at  C ,  or  was  it  at  college  ?     Bless  me,  how 

forgetful  I  'm  growing ! ' ' 

They  all  laughed  at  Henry's  bit  of  acting.  Per 
haps  it  was  only  sparkles  of  mirth,  but  it  might 
have  been  glances  of  tender  confidence  that  shot 
between  certain  pairs  of  eyes  betokening  something 
that  feared  not  time.  This  is  in  no  sort  a  love 
story,  but  such  things  can't  be  wholly  prevented. 
/  The  girls,  however,  protested  that  this  talk  about 
growing  so  utterly  away  from  each  other  was  too 
dismal  for  anything,  and  they  would  n't  believe  it 
anyhow.  The  old-fashioned  notions  about  eternal 
constancy  were  ever  so  much  nicer.  It  gave  them 
the  cold  shivers  to  hear  Henry's  ante-niortem  dis 
section  of  their  friendship,  and  that  young  man 
was  finally  forced  to  admit  that  the  members  of 
the  club  would  probably  prove  exceptions  to  the 
general  rule  in  such  matters.  It  was  agreed,  there 
fore,  that  they  should  appear  to  know  each  other  at 
the  old  folks'  party. 

"  All  you  girls  must,  of  course,  be  called  '  Mrs.' 
instead  of  '  Miss,'  "  suggested  Frank,  "  though  you 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY  69 

will  have  to  keep  your  own  names,  that  is,  unless 
you  prefer  to  disclose  any  designs  you  may  have 
upon  other  people's ;  "  for  which  piece  of  imperti 
nence  Nellie,  who  sat  next  him,  boxed  his  ears,  — 
for  the  reader  must  know  that  these  young  people 
were  on  a  footing  of  entire  familiarity  and  long 
intimacy. 

"Do  you  know  what  time  it  is ?  "  asked  Mary, 
who,  by  virtue  of  the  sweet  sedateness  of  her  dis 
position,  was  rather  the  monitress  of  the  company. 

"  It 's  twelve  o'clock,  an  hour  after  the  club's 
curfew." 

"  Well,"  remarked  Henry,  rousing  from  the  fit 
of  abstraction  in  which  he  had  been  pursuing  the 
subject  of  their  previous  discussion,  "  it  was  to  be 
expected  we  should  get  a  little  mixed  as  to  chrono 
logy  over  such  talk  as  this." 

"  With  our  watches  set  fifty  years  ahead,  there  '11 
be  no  danger  of  overstaying  our  time  next  Wednes 
day,  anyhow,"  added  Frank. 

Soon  the  girls  presented  themselves  in  readiness 
for  outdoors,  and,  in  a  pleasant  gust  of  good-bys 
and  parting  jests,  the  party  broke  up. 

"Good-by  for  fifty  years,"  Jessie  called  after 
them  from  the  stoop,  as  the  merry  couples  walked 
away  in  the  moonlight. 

The  following  week  was  one  of  numerous  consul 
tations  among  the  girls.  Grandmother  Fellows's 
wardrobe  was  pretty  thoroughly  rummaged  under 
that  good-natured  old  lady's  superintendence,  and 


70  THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY 

many  were  the  queer  effects  of  old  garments  upon 
young  figures  which  surprised  the  steady-going 
mirror  in  her  quiet  chamber. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  can  never  depend  on  it  again," 
said  Mrs.  Fellows. 

She  had  promised  to  be  at  the  party. 

"  She  looked  so  grave  when  I  first  asked  her," 
Mary  explained  to  the  girls,  "  that  I  was  sorry  I 
spoke  of  it.  I  was  afraid  she  thought  we  wanted 
her  only  as  a  sort  of  convenience,  to  help  out  our 
pantomime  by  the  effect  of  her  white  hair.  But  in 
a  minute  she  smiled  in  her  cheery  way,  and  said,  as 
if  she  saw  right  through  me  :  4 1  suppose,  my  child, 
you  think  being  old  a  sort  of  misfortune,  like  being 
hunchbacked  or  blind,  and  are  afraid  of  hurting 
my  feelings,  but  you  need  n't  be.  The  good  Lord 
has  made  it  so  that  at  whichever  end  of  life  we  are, 
the  other  end  looks  pretty  uninteresting,  and  if  it 
won't  hurt  your  feelings  to  have  somebody  in  the 
party  who  has  got  through  all  the  troubles  you 
have  yet  before  you,  I  should  be  glad  to  come.' 
That  was  turning  the  tables  for  us  pretty  neatly, 
eh,  girls?" 

The  young  ladies  would  not  have  had  the  old 
lady  guess  it  for  worlds,  but  truth  compels  me  to 
own  that  all  that  week  they  improved  every  oppor 
tunity  furtively  to  study  Mrs.  Fellows's  gait  and 
manner,  with  a  view  to  perfecting  their  parts. 

Frank  and  George  met  a  couple  of  times  in 
Henry's  room  to  smoke  it  over  and  settle  details, 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY  71 

and  Henry  called  on  Jessie  to  arrange  several  con 
certed  features  of  the  programme,  and  for  some 
other  reasons  for  aught  I  know. 

As  each  one  studied  his  or  her  part  and  strove 
in  imagination  to  conceive  how  they  would  act  and 
feel  as  old  men  and  old  women,  they  grew  more 
interested,  and  more  sensible  of  the  mjngled  pathos 
and  absurdity  of  the  project,  and  its  decided  gen 
eral  effect  of  queerness.  They  all  set  themselves 
to  make  a  study  of  old  age  in  a  manner  that  had 
never  occurred  to  them  before,  and  never  does 
occur  to  most  people  at  all.  Never  before  had 
their  elderly  friends  received  so  much  attention  at 
their  hands. 

In  the  prosecution  of  these  observations  they 
were  impressed  with  the  entire  lack  of  interest  gen 
erally  felt  by  people  in  the  habits  and  manners  of 
persons  in  other  epochs  of  life  than  their  own^yln 
respect  of  age,  as  in  so  many  other  respects,  the 
world  lives  on  flats,  with  equally  little  interest  in 
or  comprehension  of  the  levels  above  or  below 
them.  And  a  surprising  thing  is  that  middle  age 
is  about  as  unable  to  recall  and  realize  youth  as  to 
anticipate  age.  Experience  seems  to  go  for  nothing 
in  this  matter. 

They  thought  they  noticed,  too,  that  old  people 
are  more  alike  than  middle-aged  people.  There  is 
something  of  the  same  narrowness  and  similarity 
in  the  range  of  their  tastes  and  feelings  that  is 
marked  in  children.  The  reason  they  thought  to 


01 

til 


72  THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY 

be  that  the  interests  of  age  have  contracted  to 
about  the  same  scope  as  those  of  childhood  before 
it  has  expanded  into  maturity.  The  skein  of  life 
is  drawn  together  to  a  point  at  the  two  ends  and 
spread  out  in  the  middle.  Middle  age  is  the  period 
of  most  diversity,  when  individuality  is  most  pro 
nounced.  The  members  of  the  club  observed  with 
astonishment  that,  however  affectionately  we  may 
regard  old  persons,  we  no  more  think  of  becoming 
like  them  than  of  becoming  negroes.  If  we  catch 
ourselves  observing  their  senile  peculiarities,  it  is 
in  a  purely  disinterested  manner,  with  a  complete 
and  genuine  lack  of  any  personal  concern,  as  with 
a  state  to  which  we  are  coming. 

They  could  not  help  wondering  if  Henry  were 
not  right  about  people  never  really  growing  old, 
but  just  changing  from  one  personality  to  another. 
They  found  the  strange  inability  of  one  epoch  to 
understand  or  appreciate  the  others,  hard  to  recon 
cile  with  the  ordinary  notion  of  a  persistent  iden 
tity. 

Before  the  end  of  the  week,  the  occupation  of 
their  minds  with  the  subject  of  old  age  produced  a 
singular  effect.  They  began  to  regard  every  event 
and  feeling  from  a  double  standpoint,  as  present 
and  as  past,  as  it  appeared  to  them  and  as  it  would 
appear  to  an  old  person. 

Wednesday  evening  came  at  last,  and  a  little  be 
fore  the  hour  of  eight,  five  venerable  figures,  more 
or  less  shrouded,  might  have  been  seen  making 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY  73 

their  way  from  different  parts  of  the  village  toward 
the  Fellows  mansion.  The  families  of  the  members 
of  the  club  were  necessarily  in  the  secret,  and 
watched  their  exit  with  considerable  laughter  from 

O 

behind  blinds.  But  to  the  rest  of  the  villagers  it 
has  never  ceased  to  be  a  puzzle  who  those  elderly 
strangers  were  who  appeared  that  evening  and  were 
never  before  or  since  visible.  For  once  the  Argus- 
eyed  curiosity  of  a  Yankee  village,  compared  with 
which  French  or  Austrian  police  are  easy  to  baffle, 
was  fairly  eluded. 

Eight  o'clock  was  the  hour  at  which  the  old 
folks'  party  began,  and  the  reader  will  need  a  fresh 
introduction  to  the  company  which  was  assembled 
at  that  time  in  Mary  Fellows's  parlor.  Mary  sat 
by  her  grandmother,  who  from  time  to  time  re 
garded  her  in  a  half-puzzled  manner,  as  if  it  re 
quired  an  effort  of  her  reasoning  powers  to  reassure 
her  that  the  effect  she  saw  was  an  illusion.  The 
girl's  brown  hair  was  gathered  back  under  a  lace 
cap,  and  all  that  appeared  outside  it  was  thickly 
powdered.  She  wore  spectacles,  and  the  warm 
tint  of  her  cheeks  had  given  place  to  the  opaque 
saffron  hue  of  age.  She  sat  with  her  hands  in  her 
lap,  their  fresh  color  and  dimpled  contour  con 
cealed  by  black  lace  half -gloves.  The  fullness  of 
her  young  bosom  was  carefully  disguised  by  the 
arrangement  of  the  severely  simple  black  dress  she 
wore,  which  was  also  in  other  respects  studiously 
adapted  to  conceal,  by  its  stiff  and  angular  lines, 


74  THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY 

the  luxuriant  contour  of  her  figure.  As  she  rose  and 
advanced  to  welcome  Henry  and  Jessie,  who  were 
the  last  to  arrive,  it  was  with  a  striking  imitation 
of  the  tremulously  precipitate  step  of  age. 

Jessie,  being  rather  taller  than  the  others,  had 
affected  the  stoop  of  age  very  successfully.  She 
wore  a  black  dress  spotted  with  white,  and  her 
whitened  hair  was  arranged  with  a  high  comb. 
She  was  the  only  one  without  spectacles  or  eye 
glasses.  Henry  looked  older  and  feebler  than  any 
of  the  company.  His  scant  hair  hung  in  thin  and 
long  white  locks,  and  his  tall,  slender  figure  had 
gained  a  still  more  meagre  effect  from  his  dress, 
while  his  shoulders  were  bowed  in  a  marked  stoop  ; 
his  gait  was  rigid  and  jerky.  He  assisted  himself 
with  a  gold-headed  cane,  and  sat  in  his  chair  lean 
ing  forward  upon  it. 

George,  on  the  other  hand,  had  followed  the  hint 
of  his  father's  figure  in  his  make-up,  and  appeared 
as  a  rubicund  old  gentleman,  large  in  the  waist, 
bald,  with  an  apoplectic  tendency,  a*  wheezy  asth 
matic  voice,  and  a  full  white  beard. 

Nellie  wore  her  hair  in  a  row  of  white  curls  on 
each  side  of  her  head,  and  in  every  detail  of  her 
dress  and  air  affected  the  coquettish  old  lady  to 
perfection,  for  which,  of  course,  she  looked  none 
the  younger.  Her  cheeks  were  rouged  to  go  with 
that  style. 

Frank  was  the  ideal  of  the  sprightly  little  old 
gentleman.  With  his  brisk  air,  natty  eye-glasses, 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY  75 

cane  and  gloves,  and  other  items  of  dress  in  the 
most  correct  taste,  he  was  quite  the  old  bean.  His 
white  hair  was  crispy,  brushed  back,  and  his  snowy 
mustache  had  rather  a  rakish  effect. 

Although  the  transformation  in  each  case  was 
complete,  yet  quite  enough  of  the  features,  expres 
sion,  or  bearing  was  apparent  through  the  disguise 
to  make  the  members  of  the  party  entirely  recog 
nizable  to  each  other,  though  less  intimate  ac 
quaintances  would  perhaps  have  been  at  first 
rather  puzzled.  At  Henry's  suggestion  they  had 
been  photographed  in  their  costumes,  in  order  to 
compare  the  ideal  with  the  actual  when  they  should 
be  really  old. 

"It  is  n't  much  trouble,  and  the  old  folks  will 
enjoy  it  some  day.  We  ought  to  consider  them  a 
little,"  Henry  had  said,  meaning  by  "  the  old 
folks  "  their  future  selves. 

It  had  been  agreed  that,  in  proper  deference  to 
the  probabilities,  one,  at  least,  of  the  girls  ought  to 
illustrate  the  fat  old  lady.  But  they  found  it  im 
possible  to  agree  which  should  sacrifice  herself,  for 
no  one  of  the  three  could,  in  her  histrionic  enthusi 
asm,  quite  forget  her  personal  appearance.  Nellie 
flatly  refused  to  be  made  up  fat,  and  Jessie  as  flatly, 
while  both  the  girls  had  too  much  reverence  for  the 
sweet  dignity  of  Mary  Fellows's  beauty  to  consent 
to  her  taking  the  part,  and  so  the  idea  was  given  up. 

It  had  been  a  happy  thought  of  Mary's  to  get  her 
two  younger  sisters,  girls  of  eleven  and  sixteen, 


76  THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY 

to  be  present,  to  enhance  the  venerable  appearance 
of  the  party  by  the  contrast  of  their  bloom  and 
freshness. 

"  Are  these  your  little  granddaughters  ? "  in 
quired  Henry,  benevolently  inspecting  them  over 
the  tops  of  his  spectacles  as  he  patted  the  elder  of 
the  two  on  the  head,  a  liberty  she  would  by  no  means 
have  allowed  him  in  his  proper  character,  but  which 
she  now  seemed  puzzled  whether  to  resent  or  not. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mary,  with  an  indulgent  smile. 
*'  They  wanted  to  see  what  an  old  folks'  party  was 
like,  though  I  told  them  they  would  n't  enjoy  it 
much.  I  remember  I  thought  old  people  rather 
dull  when  I  was  their  age." 

Henry  made  a  little  conversation  with  the  girls, 
asking  them  the  list  of  fatuous  questions  by  which 
adults  seem  fated  to  illustrate  the  gulf  between 
them  and  childhood  in  the  effort  to  bridge  it. 

"Annie,  dear,  just  put  that  ottoman  at  Mrs. 
Hyde's  feet,"  said  Mary  to  one  of  the  little  girls. 
"  I  'm  so  glad  you  felt  able  to  come  out  this  even 
ing,  Mrs.  Hyde!  I  understood  you  had  not  en 
joyed  good  health  this  summer." 

"  I  have  scarcely  been  out  of  my  room  since 
spring,  until  recently,"  replied  Jessie.  "Thank 
you,  my  dear  "  (to  the  little  girl)  ;  "  but  Dr.  San- 
ford  has  done  wonders  for  me.  How  is  your 
health  now,  Mrs.  Fellows?  " 

"  I  have  not  been  so  well  an  entire  summer  in 
ten  years.  My  daughter,  Mrs.  Tarbox,  was  saying 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY  77 

the  other  day  that  she  wished  she  had  my  strength. 
You  know  she  is  quite  delicate,"  said  Mary. 

"  Speaking  of  Dr.  Sanford,"  said  Henry,  looking 
at  Jessie,  "he  is  really  a  remarkable  man.  My 
son  has  such  confidence  in  him  that  he  seemed 
quite  relieved  when  I  had  passed  my  grand  climac 
teric  and  could  get  on  his  list.  You  know  he  takes 
no  one  under  sixty-three.  By  the  way,  governor," 
he  added,  turning  around  with  some  ado,  so  as  to 
face  George,  "  I  heard  he  had  been  treating  your 
rheumatism  lately.  Has  he  seemed  to  reach  the 
difficulty?" 

"  Remarkably,"  replied  George,  tenderly  strok 
ing  his  right  knee  in  an  absent  manner.  "  Why, 
don't  you  think  I  walked  half  the  way  home  from 
my  office  the  other  day  when  my  carriage  was  late  ?  " 

"I  wonder  you  dared  venture  it,"  said  Jessie, 
with  a  shocked  air.  "  What  if  you  had  met  with 
some  accident !  " 

"  That 's  what  my  son  said,"  answered  George. 
"  He  made  me  promise  never  to  try  such  a  thing 
again ;  but  I  like  to  show  them  occasionally  that 
I'm  good  for  something  yet." 

He  said  this  with  a  "  he,  he,"  of  senile  compla 
cency,  ending  in  an  asthmatic  cough,  which  caused 
some  commotion  in  the  company.  Frank  got  up 
and  slapped  him  on  the  back,  and  Mary  sent 
Annie  for  a  glass  of  water. 

George  being  relieved,  and  quiet  once  more 
restored,  Henry  said  to  Frank  :  — 


78  THE   OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY 

"  By  the  way,  doctor,  I  want  to  congratulate  yon 
on  your  son's  last  book.  You  must  have  helped 
him  to  the  material  for  so  truthful  a  picture  of 
American  manners  in  the  days  when  we  were 
young.  I  fear  we  have  not  improved  much  since 
then.  There  was  a  simplicity,  a  naturalness  in 
society  fifty  years  ago,  that  one  looks  in  vain  for 
now.  There  was,  it  seems  to  me,  much  less  regard 
paid  to  money,  and  less  of  morbid  social  ambition. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Tyrrell?  " 

"  It 's  just  what  I  was  saying  only  the  other 
day,"  replied  Nellie.  "  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know 
what  we  're  coming  to  nowadays.  Girls  had  some 
modesty  when  I  was  young,"  and  she  shook  her 
head  with  its  rows  of  white  curls  with  an  air  of 
mingled  reprobation  and  despair. 

"  Did  you  attend  Professor  Merryweather's  lec 
ture  last  evening,  Mrs.  Hyde  ?  "  asked  Frank,  ad 
justing  his  eye-glasses  and  fixing  Jessie  with  that 
intensity  of  look  by  which  old  persons  have  to  make 
up  for  their  failing  eyesight.  "  The  hall  was  so 
near  your  house,  I  did  n't  know  but  you  would  feel 
like  venturing  out." 

"  My  daughters  insisted  on  my  taking  advantage 
of  the  opportunity,  it  is  so  seldom  I  go  anywhere 
of  an  evening,"  replied  Jessie,  uand  I  was  very 
much  interested,  though  I  lost  a  good  deal  owing 
to  the  carrying  on  of  a  young  couple  in  front  of 
me.  When  I  was  a  girl,  young  folks  did  n't  do 
their  courting  in  public." 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY  79 

Mary  had  not  heard  of  the  lecture,  and  Frank 
explained  that  it  was  one  of  the  ter-semi-centennial 
course  on  American  society  and  politics  fifty  years 
ago. 

"  By  the  way,"  remarked  George,  "  did  you  ob 
serve  what  difficulty  they  are  having  in  finding 
enough  survivors  of  the  civil  war  to  make  a  respect 
able  squad.  The  papers  say  that  not  over  a  dozen 
of  both  armies  can  probably  be  secured,  and  some 
of  the  cases  are  thought  doubtful  at  that." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  "  said  Henry.  "  And  yet,  too,  it 
must  be  so  ;  but  it  sounds  strangely  to  one  who  re 
members  as  if  it  were  yesterday  seeing  the  grand 
review  of  the  Federal  armies  at  Washington  just 
after  the  war.  What  a  host  of  strong  men  was 
that,  and  now  scarcely  a  dozen  left.  My  friends, 
we  are  getting  to  be  old  people.  We  are  almost 
through  with  it." 

Henry  sat  gazing  into  vacancy  over  the  tops  of 
his  spectacles,  while  the  old  ladies  wiped  theirs  and 
sniffed  and  sighed  a  little.  Finally  Jessie  said :  — 

"  Those  were  heroic  days.  My  little  grand 
daughters  never  tire  of  hearing  stories  about  them. 
They  are  strong  partisans,  too.  Jessie  is  a  fierce 
little  rebel  and  Sam  is  an  uncompromising  Union 
ist,  only  they  both  agree  in  denouncing  slavery." 

"  That  reminds  me,"  said  Frank,  smiling,  "  that 
our  little  Frankie  came  to  me  yesterday  with  a 
black  eye  he  got  for  telling  Judge  Benson's  little- 
boy  that  people  of  his  complexion  were  once  slaves. 


80  THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY 

He  had  read  it  in  his  history,  and  appealed  to  me 
to  know  if  it  was  n't  true." 

"  I  'm  not  a  bit  surprised  that  the  little  Benson 
boy  resented  the  imputation,"  said  George.  "I 
really  don't  believe  that  more  than  half  the  people 
would  be  certain  that  slavery  ever  existed  here, 
and  I  'm  sure  that  it  rarely  occurs  to  those  who  do 
know  it.  No  doubt  that  company  of  old  slaves  at 
the  centennial  —  that  is,  if  they  can  find  enough 
survivors  —  will  be  a  valuable  historical  reminder 
to  many." 

"  Dr.  Hays,"  said  Nellie,  "  will  you  settle  a  ques 
tion  between  Mrs.  Hyde  and  myself  ?  Were  you  in 

C ,  it  was  then  only  a  village,  along  between 

1870  and  '80,  about  forty  or  fifty  years  ago?  " 

"  No  —  and  yet,  come  to  think  —  let  me  see  — 
when  did  you  say  ?  "  replied  Frank  doubtfully. 

"Between  1870  and  '80,  as  nearly  as  we  can 
make  out,  probably  about  the  middle  of  the  dec 
ade,"  said  Nellie. 

"  I  think  I  was  in  C at  about  that  time.  I 

believe  I  was  still  living  with  my  father's  family." 

"  I  told  you  so,"  said  Nellie  to  Jessie,  and,  turn 
ing  again  to  Frank,  she  asked :  — 

"  Do  you  remember  anything  about  a  social  club 
there?"* 

"  I  do,"  replied  Frank,  with  some  appearance  of 
interest.  "I  recall  something  of  the  sort  quite 
distinctly,  though  I  suppose  I  have  n't  thought  of 
it  for  twenty  years.  How  did  you  ever  hear  of 
it,  Mrs.  Hyde?" 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY  81 

"  Why,  I  was  a  member,"  replied  she  briskly, 
"  and  so  was  Mrs.  Tyrrell.  We  were  reminded  of 
it  the  other  day  by  a  discovery  Mrs.  Tyrrell  made 
in  an  old  bureau  drawer  of  a  photograph  of  the 
members  of  the  club  in  a  group,  taken  probably 
all  of  fifty  years  ago,  and  yellow  as  you  can  ima 
gine.  There  was  one  figure  that  resembled  you, 
doctor,  as  you  might  have  looked  then,  and  I 
thought,  too,  that  I  recalled  you  as  one  of  the  mem 
bers  ;  but  Mrs.  Tyrrell  could  not,  and  so  we  agreed 
to  settle  the  matter  by  appealing  to  your  own 
recollection." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Frank,  "  I  now  recall  the 
club  very  perfectly,  and  it  seems  to  me  Governor 
Townsley  was  also  in  it." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  was  a  member,"  assented 
George,  "  though  my  recollections  are  rather 
hazy." 

Mary  and  Henry,  being  appealed  to,  failed  to 
remember  anything  about  the  club,  the  latter  sug 
gesting  that  probably  it  flourished  before  he  came 

to  C .  Jessie  was  quite  sure  she  recalled 

Henry,  but  the  others  could  not  do  so  with  much 
positiveness. 

"  I  will  ask  Mrs.  Long  when  I  get  home,"  said 

Henry.  "  She  has  always  lived  at  C ,  and  is 

great  for  remembering  dates.  Let 's  see ;  what 
time  do  you  think  it  was  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Tyrrell  and  I  concluded  it  must  have 
been  between  1873  and  1877,"  said  Jessie ;  adding 


82  THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY 

slyly,  "  for  she  was  married  in  1877.  Mrs.  Tyrrell, 
did  you  bring  that  old  photograph  with  you  ?  It 
might  amuse  them  to  look  at  it." 

Nellie  produced  a  small  picture,  and,  adjusting 
their  spectacles  and  eye-glasses,  they  all  came  for 
ward  to  see  it.  A  group  of  six  young  people  was 
represented,  all  in  the  very  heyday  of  youth.  The 
spectators  were  silent,  looking  first  at  the  picture, 
and  then  at  each  other. 

"  Can  it  be,"  said  Frank,  "  that  these  were  ever 
our  pictures  ?  I  hope,  Mrs.  Tyrrell,  the  originals 
had  the  forethought  to  put  the  names  on  the  back, 
that  we  may  be  able  to  identify  them." 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  we  must  guess  as  best  we  can. 
First,  who  is  that?  "  pointing  to  one  of  the  figures. 

"  That  must  be  Mrs.  Hyde,  for  she  is  taller  than 
the  others,"  suggested  Grandma  Fellows. 

"  By  the  same  token,  that  must  be  Mrs.  Tyrrell, 
for  she  is  shorter,"  said  Jessie  ;  "  though,  but  for 
that,  I  don't  see  how  we  could  have  told  them 
apart." 

"  How  oddly  they  did  dress  in  those  days ! " 
said  Mary. 

"  Who  can  that  be?  "  asked  Frank,  pointing  to 
the  finest-looking  of  the  three  young  men.  "  If  that 
is  one  of  us,  there  was  more  choice  in  our  looks 
than  there  is  now,  —  eh,  Towiisley  ?  " 

"  No  doubt,"  said  George,  "  fifty  years  ago 
somebody's  eye  scanned  those  features  with  a  very 
keen  sense  of  proprietorship.  What  a  queer  feel- 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY  83 

ing  it  would  have  given  those  young  things  to  have 
anticipated  that  we  should  ever  puzzle  over  their 
identities  in  this  way !  " 

They  finally  agreed  on  the  identity  of  Jessie, 
Nellie,  and  Frank,  and  of  George  also,  on  his  as 
suring  them  that  he  was  once  of  slender  figure. 
This  left  two  figures  which  nobody  could  recog 
nize,  though  Jessie  insisted  that  the  gentleman  was 
Henry,  and  Mary  thought  the  other  young  lady 
was  a  Miss  Fellows,  a  girl  of  the  village,  who,  she 
explained,  had  died  young  many,  many  years  ago. 

"Don't  you  remember  her?"  she  asked  them, 
and  her  voice  trembled  with  a  half-genuine  sort  of 
self-pity,  as  if,  for  a  moment,  she  imagined  herself 
her  own  ghost. 

"  I  recall  her  well,"  said  Frank  ;  "  tall,  grave, 
sweet,  I  remember  she  used  to  realize  to  me  the 
abstraction  of  moral  beauty  when  we  were  study 
ing  Paley  together." 

"  I  don't  know  when  I  have  thought  so  much 
of  those  days  as  since  I  received  cards  for  your 
golden  wedding,  Judge,"  said  Nellie  to  Henry, 
soon  after.  "  How  many  of  those  who  were 
present  at  your  wedding  will  be  present  at  your 
golden  wedding,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"  Not  more  than  two  or  three,"  replied  Henry, 
"  and  yet  the  whole  village  was  at  the  wedding." 

"  Thank  God,"  he  said  a  moment  after,  "  that 
our  friends  scatter  before  they  die.  Otherwise 
old  people  like  us  would  do  nothing  but  attend 


84  THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY 

funerals  during  the  last  half  of  our  lives.  Parting 
is  sad,  but  I  prefer  to  part  from  my  friends  while 
they  are  yet  alive,  that  I  may  feel  it  less  when 
they  die.  One  must  manage  his  feelings  or  they 
will  get  the  better  of  him." 

"  It  is  a  singular  sensation,"  said  George,  "  to 
outlive  one's  generation.  One  has  at  times  a 
guilty  sense  of  having  deserted  his  comrades.  It 
seems  natural  enough  to  outlive  any  one  contem 
porary,  but  unnatural  to  survive  them  as  a  mass, 
—  a  sort  of  risky  thing,  fraught  with  the  various 
vague  embarrassments  and  undefined  perils  threat 
ening  one  who  is  out  of  his  proper  place.  And 
yet  one  does  n't  want  to  die,  though  convinced  he 
ought  to,  and  that 's  the  cowardly  misery  of  it." 

44  Yes,"  said  Henry,  44 1  had  that  feeling  pretty 
strongly  when  I  attended  the  last  reunion  of  our 
alumni,  and  found  not  one  survivor  within  five 
classes  of  me.  I  was  isolated.  Death  had  got 
into  my  rear  and  cut  me  off.  I  felt  ashamed  and 
thoroughly  miserable." 

Soon  after,  tea  was  served.  Frank  vindicated 
his  character  as  an  old  beau  by  a  tottering  alacrity 
in  serving  the  ladies,  while  George  and  Henry,  by 
virtue  of  their  more  evident  infirmity,  sat  still  and 
allowed  themselves  to  be  served.  One  or  two 
declined  tea  as  not  agreeing  with  them  at  that 
hour. 

The  loquacious  herb  gave  a  fresh  impulse  to  the 
conversation,  and  the  party  fell  to  talking  in  a 


THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY  85 

broken,  interjectory  way  of  youthful  scenes  and 
experiences,  each  contributing  some  reminiscence, 
and  the  others  chiming  in  and  adding  scraps,  or 
perhaps  confessing  their  inability  to  recall  the 
occurrences. 

"  What  a  refinement  of  cruelty  it  is,"  said 
Henry  at  last,  "  that  makes  even  those  experiences 
which  were  unpleasant  or  indifferent  when  pass 
ing  look  so  mockingly  beautiful  when  hopelessly 
past." 

"  Oh,  that 's  not  the  right  way  to  look  at  it, 
Judge,"  broke  in  Grandma  Fellows,  with  mild 
reproof.  "  Just  think  rather  how  dull  life  would 
be,  looking  forward  or  backward,  if  past  or  coming 
experiences  seemed  as  uninteresting  as  they  mostly 
are  when  right  at  hand." 

"  Sweet  memories  are  like  moonlight,"  said 
Jessie  musingly.  "  They  make  one  melancholy, 
however  pleasing  they  may  be.  I  don't  see  why, 
any  more  than  why  moonlight  is  so  sad,  spite  of 
its  beauty  ;  but  so  it  is." 

The  fragile  tenure  of  the  sense  of  personal  iden 
tity  is  illustrated  by  the  ease  and  completeness 
with  which  actors  can  put  themselves  in  the  place 
of  the  characters  they  assume,  so  that  even  their 
instinctive  demeanor  corresponds  to  the  ideal,  and 
their  acting  becomes  nature.  Such  was  the  expe 
rience  of  the  members  of  the  club.  The  occupa 
tion  of  their  mind  during  the  week  with  the  study 
of  their  assumed  characters  had  produced  an  im- 


86  THE  OLD  FOLKS'  PARTY 

pression  that  had  been  deepened  to  an  astonishing 
degree  by  the  striking  effect  of  the  accessories  of 
costume  and  manner.  The  long-continued  effort 
to  project  themselves  mentally  into  the  period  of 
old  age  was  assisted  in  a  startling  manner  by  the 
illusion  of  the  senses  produced  by  the  decrepit 
figures,  the  sallow  and  wrinkled  faces,  and  the 
white  heads  of  the  group. 

Their  acting  had  become  spontaneous.  They 
were  perplexed  and  bewildered  as  to  their  identity, 
and  in  a  manner  carried  away  by  the  illusion  their 
own  efforts  had  created.  In  some  of  the  earlier 
conversation  of  the  evening  there  had  been  occa 
sional  jests  and  personalities,  but  the  talk  had  now 
become  entirely  serious.  The  pathos  and  melan 
choly  of  the  retrospections  in  which  they  were  in 
dulging  became  real.  All  felt  that  if  it  was  acting 
now,  it  was  but  the  rehearsal  of  a  coming  reality. 
I  think  some  of  them  were  for  a  little  while  not 
clearly  conscious  that  it  was  not  already  reality, 
and  that  their  youth  was  not  forever  vanished. 
The  sense  of  age  was  weighing  on  them  like  a 
nightmare.  In  very  self-pity  voices  began  to  trem 
ble  and  bosoms  heaved  with  suppressed  sobs. 

Mary  rose  and  stepped  to  the  piano.  It  indi 
cated  how  fully  she  had  realized  her  part  that,  as 
she  passed  the  mirror,  no  involuntary  start  testi 
fied  to  surprise  at  the  aged  figure  it  reflected.  She 
played  in  a  minor  key  an  air  to  the  words  of 
Tennyson's  matchless  piece  of  pathos,  — 


THE   OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY  87 

"  The  days  that  are  no  more," 

herself  with  a  voice  rich,  strong, 
and  sweet.  By  the  time  she  had  finished,  the  girls 
were  all  crying. 

Suddenly  Henry  sprang  to  his  feet,  and,  with 
the  strained,  uncertain  voice  of  one  waking  him 
self  from  a  nightmare,  cried  :  — 

"  Thank  God,  thank  God,  it  is  only  a  dream," 
and  tore  off  the  wig,  letting  the  brown  hair  fall 
about  his  forehead.  Instantly  all  followed  his 
example,  and  in  a  moment  the  transformation  was 
effected.  Brown,  black,  and  golden  hair  was  fly 
ing  free  ;  rosy  cheeks  were  shining  through  the 
powder  where  handkerchiefs  had  been  hastily  ap 
plied,  and  the  bent  and  tottering  figures  of  a 
moment  ago  had  given  place  to  broad-shouldered 
men  and  full-breasted  girls.  Henry  caught  Jessie 
around  the  waist,  Frank  Nellie,  and  George  Mary, 
and  with  one  of  the  little  girls  at  the  piano,  up 
and  down  the  room  they  dashed  to  the  merriest 
of  waltzes  in  the  maddest  round  that  ever  was 
danced.  There  was  a  reckless  abandon  in  their 
glee,  as  if  the  lust  of  life,  the  glow  and  fire  of 
youth,  its  glorious  freedom,  and  its  sense  of  bound 
less  wealth,  suddenly  set  free,  after  long  repres 
sion,  had  intoxicated  them  with  its  strong  fumes. 
It  was  such  a  moment  as  their  lifetime  would  not 
bring  again. 

It  was  not  till,  flushed  and  panting,  laughing 
and  exhausted,  they  came  to  a  pause,  that  they 


88  THE  OLD  FOLKS'   PARTY 

1^ 
thought  of  Grandma  Fellows.      She  was   crying, 

and  yet  smiling  through  her  tears. 

"  Oh,  grandma,"  cried  Mary,  throwing  her  arms 
around  her,  and  bursting  into  tears,  "  we  can't 
take  you  back  with  us.  Oh,  dear." 

And  the  other  girls  cried  over  her,  and  kissed 
her  in  a  piteous,  tender  way,  feeling  as  if  their 
hearts  would  break  for  the  pity  of  it.  And  the 
young  men  were  conscious  of  moisture  about  the 
eyes  as  they  stood  looking  on. 

But  Grandma  Fellows  smiled  cheerily,  and 
said :  — 

"  I  'm  a  foolish  old  woman  to  cry,  and  you 
must  n't  think  it  is  because  I  want  to  be  young 
again.  It 's  only  because  I  can't  help  it." 

Perhaps  she  could  n't  have  explained  it  better. 


THE  COLD  SNAP 

IN  the  extremes  of  winter  and  summer,  when 
the  weather  is  either  extraordinarily  cold  or  hot,  I 
confess  to  experiencing  a  peculiar  sense  of  help 
lessness  and  vague  uneasiness.  I  have  a  feeling 
that  a  trifling  additional  rise  or  fall  of  tempera 
ture,  such  as  might  be  caused  by  any  slight  hitch 
in  the  machinery  of  the  universe,  would  quite 
crowd  mankind  out  of  existence.  To  be  sure,  the 
hitch  never  has  occurred,  but  what  if  it  should? 
Conscious  that  I  have  about  reached  the  limit  of 
my  own  endurance,  the  thought  of  the  bare  con 
tingency  is  unpleasant  enough  to  cause  a  feeling 
of  relief,  not  altogether  physical,  when  the  rising 
or  falling  mercury  begins  to  turn.  The  conscious 
ness  how  wholly  by  sufferance  it  is  that  man  exists 
at  all  on  the  earth  is  rather  forcibly  borne  in 
upon  the  mind  at  such  times.  The  spaces  above 
and  below  zero  are  indefinite. 

I  have  to  take  my  vacations  as  the  fluctuations 
of  a  rather  exacting  business  permit,  and  so  it 
happened  that  I  was,  with  my  wife,  passing  a  fort 
night  in  the  coldest  part  of  winter  at  the  family 
homestead  in  New  England.  The  ten  previous 
days  had  been  very  cold,  and  the  cold  had  "  got 


90  THE   COLD  SNAP 

into  the  house,"  which  means  that  it  had  so  pene 
trated  and  chilled  the  very  walls  and  timbers  that 
a  cold  day  now  took  hold  of  us  as  it  had  not  ear 
lier  in  the  season.  Finally  there  came  a  day  that 
was  colder  than  any  before  it.  The  credit  of  dis 
covering  and  first  asserting  that  it  was  the  coldest 
day  of  the  season  is  due  to  myself,  —  no  slight  dis 
tinction  in  the  country,  where  the  weather  is  al 
ways  a  more  prominent  topic  than  in  the  city,  and 
the  weather-wise  are  accordingly  esteemed.  Every 
one  hastened  to  corroborate  this  verdict  with  some 
piece  of  evidence.  Mother  said  that  the  frost  had 
not  gone  off  the  kitchen  window  nearest  the  stove 
in  all  the  day,  and  that  was  a  sign.  The  sleighs  and 
sledges  as  they  went  by  in  the  road  creaked  on  the 
snow,  so  that  we  heard  them  through  the  double 
windows,  and  that  was  a  sign ;  while  the  teamsters 
swung  their  benumbed  arms  like  the  sails  of  a  wind 
mill  to  keep  up  the  circulation,  and  the  frozen 
vapor  puffed  out  from  the  horses'  nostrils  in  a  man 
ner  reminding  one  of  the  snorting  coursers  in  sen 
sational  pictures.  The  schoolboys  on  their  way 
from  school  did  not  stop  to  play,  and  that  was  a 
sign.  No  women  had  been  seen  on  the  street  since 
noon.  Young  men,  as  they  hurried  past  on  the 
peculiar  high-stepping  trot  of  persons  who  have 
their  hands  over  their  ears,  looked  strangely  anti 
quated  with  their  mustaches  and  beards  all  grizzled 
with  the  frost. 

Toward  dusk  I  took  a  short  run  to  the   post- 


THE  COLD   SNAP  91 

office.  I  was  well  wrapped  up,  but  that  did  not 
prevent  me  from  having  very  singular  sensations 
before  I  got  home.  The  air,  as  I  stepped  out 
from  cover,  did  .not  seem  like  air  at  all,  but  like 
some  almost  solid  medium,  whose  impact  was  like 
a  blow.  It  went  right  through  my  overcoat  at 
the  first  assault,  and  nosed  about  hungrily  for  my 
little  spark  of  vital  heat.  A  strong  wind  with  the 
flavor  of  glaciers  was  blowing  straight  from  the 
pole.  How  inexpressibly  bleak  was  the  aspect  of 
the  leaden  clouds  that  were  banked  up  around  the 
horizon !  I  shivered  as  I  looked  at  the  sullen 
masses.  The  houses  seemed  little  citadels  against 
the  sky.  I  had  not  taken  fifty  steps  before  my 
face  stiffened  into  a  sort  of  mask,  so  that  it  hurt 
me  to  move  the  facial  muscles.  I  came  home  on 
an  undignified  run,  experiencing  a  lively  sense  of 
the  inadequacy  of  two  hands  to  protect  two  ears 
and  a  nose.  Did  the  Creator  intend  man  to  in 
habit  high  latitudes  ? 

At  nightfall  father,  Bill,  and  Jim,  the  two  latter 
being  my  younger  brothers,  arrived  from  their 
offices,  each  in  succession  declaring,  with  many 
"  whews  "  and  "  ughs,"  that  it  was  by  all  odds  the 
coldest  night  yet.  Undeniably  we  all  felt  proud 
of  it,  too.  A  spirited  man  rather  welcomes  ten  or 
fifteen  degrees  extra,  if  so  be  they  make  the  tem 
perature  superlatively  low ;  while  he  would  very 
likely  grumble  at  a  much  less  positive  chilliness 
coupled  with  the  disheartening  feeling  that  he  was 


92  THE  COLD   SNAP 

enduring  nothing  extraordinary.  The  general  ex 
altation  of  spirit  and  suspension  of  the  conven 
tionalities  for  the  time  being,  which  an  extraordi 
narily  hot  or  cold  snap  produces  in  a  community, 
especially  in  the  country,  is  noteworthy.  During 
that  run  of  mine  to  the  post-office  every  man  I  met 
grinned  confidentially,  as  if  to  say,  "  We  're  hearty 
fellows  to  stand  it  as  we  do."  We  regarded  each 
other  with  an  increase  of  mutual  respect.  That 
sense  of  fellowship  which  springs  up  between  those 
associated  in  an  emergency  seemed  to  dispense  with 
ordinary  formalities,  and  neighbors  with  whom  I 
had  not  a  bowing  acquaintance  fairly  beamed  on 
me  as  we  passed. 

After  tea  Ella  (Ella  was  a  sister)  got  the  even 
ing  paper  out  of  somebody's  overcoat,  and  was 
running  it  over  in  the  dainty,  skimming  fashion 
peculiar  to  the  gentler  sex  when  favoring  the  press 
with  their  attention.  It  reminds  one  of  sea-birds 
skimming  the  water,  and  anon  diving  for  a  tidbit. 
She  read  aloud :  "  Old  Prob.  reports  another  cold 
wave  on  the  way  East.  It  will  probably  reach  the 
New  England  States  this  evening.  The  thermo 
meters  along  its  course  range  from  40°  below  zero 
at  Fort  Laramie,  to  38°  in  Omaha,  31°  in  Chicago, 
and  30°  in  Cleveland.  Numerous  cases  of  death 
by  freezing  are  reported.  Our  readers  will  do  well 
to  put  an  extra  shovelful  on  the  furnace  over 
night." 

"  Don't  forget  that,  Jiin,"  said  father. 


THE   COLD   SNAP  93 

A  gentleman  friend  called  to  take  Ella  out  to  a 
concert  or  something  of  the  sort.  Her  mother  was 
for  having  her  give  it  up  on  account  of  the  cold. 
But  it  so  happens  that  young  people,  who,  having 
life  before  them,  can  much  better  afford  than  their 
elders  to  forego  particular  pleasures,  are  much  less 
resigned  to  doing  so.  The  matter  was  compro 
mised  by  piling  so  many  wraps  upon  her  that  she 
protested  it  was  like  being  put  to  bed.  But,  be 
fore  they  had  been  gone  fifteen  minutes,  they  were 
back  again,  half  frozen.  It  had  proved  so  shock 
ingly  cold  they  had  not  dared  to  keep  on,  and 
persuaded  themselves  accordingly  that  the  enter 
tainment  had  probably  been  postponed.  The 
streets  were  entirely  deserted ;  not  even  a  police 
man  was  visible,  and  the  chilled  gas  in  the  street 
lamps  gave  but  a  dull  light. 

Ella  proposed  to  give  us  our  regular  evening 
treat  of  music,  but  found  the  corner  of  the  room 
where  the  melodeon  stood  too  cold.  Generally  the 
room  is  warm  in  every  part,  and  Jim  got  upbraided 
for  keeping  a  poor  fire.  But  he  succeeded  in  prov 
ing  that  it  was  better  than  common  ;  the  weather 
was  the  matter.  As  the  evening  wore  on,  the 
members  of  the  family  gradually  edged  around  the 
register,  finally  radiating  from  it  as  a  centre  like 
the  spokes  of  a  wheel,  of  which  the  collected  feet 
of  the  group  made  the  hub. 

My  wife  is  from  the  Southern  States,  and  the 
huge  cold  of  the  North  had  been  a  new  and  rather 


94  THE  COLD   SNAP 

terrifying  experience  to  her.  She  had  been  grow 
ing  nervous  all  the  evening,  as  the  signs  and  por 
tents  of  the  weather  accumulated.  She  was  really 
half  frightened. 

"  Are  n't  you  afraid  it  will  get  so  cold  it  will 
never  be  able  to  get  warm  again,  —  and  then  what 
would  become  of  us  ?  "  she  asked. 

Of  course  we  laughed  at  her,  but  I  think  her 
fears  infected  me  with  a  slight,  vague  anxiety,  as 
the  evidences  of  extraordinary  and  still  increasing 
cold  went  on  multiplying.  I  had  so  far  gotten 
over  my  bravado  earlier  in  the  evening  that  I 
should  have  been  secretly  relieved  if  the  thermo 
meter  had  taken  a  turn. 

At  length,  one  by  one,  the  members  of  the 
family,  with  an  anticipatory  shiver  over  the  regis 
ter,  went  to  their  rooms,  and  were  doubtless  in  bed 
in  the  shortest  possible  time,  and  I  fear  without 
saying  their  prayers.  Finally  my  wife  suggested 
that  we  had  better  go  before  we  got  too  cold  to 
do  so. 

The  bedroom  was  shockingly  cold.  Going  to 
bed  is  a  test  of  character.  I  pride  myself  on  the 
fact  that  generally,  even  when  my  room  is  cold,  I 
can,  with  steady  nerve  and  resolute  hand,  remove 
the  last  habiliment,  and  without  undignified  pre 
cipitation  reach  for  and  indue  the  nocturnal  gar 
ment.  I  admit,  however,  that  on  this  occasion  I 
gave  way  to  a  weak  irresolution  at  the  critical 
instant  and  shivered  for  some  moments  in  con- 


THE   COLD   SNAP  95 

stantly  increasing  demoralization,  before  I  could 
make  up  my  mind  to  the  final  change.  Then 
ensued  the  slow  and  gradual  conquest  of  the  frozen 
bed  to  a  tolerable  warmth,  a  result  attained  only 
by  clever  strategic  combinations  of  bedclothes  and 
the  most  methodical  policy.  As  I  lay  awake,  I 
heard  the  sides  of  the  house  crack  in  the  cold. 
"  What,"  said  I  to  myself  with  a  shiver,  "  should 
I  do  if  anything  happened  that  required  me  to 
get  up  and  dress  again  ? "  It  seemed  to  me~T~~ 
should  be  capable  of  letting  a  man  die  in  the  next 
room  for  need  of  succor.  Being  of  an  imaginative 
temperament,  not  to  feel  prepared  for  possible 
contingencies  is  for  me  to  feel  guilty  and  misera 
ble.  The  last  thing  I  remember  before  dropping — 
off  to  sleep  was  solemnly  promising  my  wife  never 
to  trust  ourselves  North  another  winter.  I  then 
fell  asleep  and  dreamed  of  the  ineffable  cold  of 
the  interstellar  spaces,  which  the  scientific  people 
talk  about. 

The  next  thing  I  was  sensible  of  was  a  feeling 
of  the  most  utter  discomfort  I  ever  experienced. 
My  whole  body  had  become  gradually  chilled 
through.  I  could  feel  the  flesh  rising  in  goose 
pimples  at  every  movement.  What  has  happened? 
was  my  first  thought.  The  bedclothes  were  all 
there,  four  inches  of  them,  and  to  find  myself 
shivering  under  such  a  pile  seemed  a  reversal  of 
the  laws  of  nature.  Shivering  is  an  unpleasant 
operation  at  best  and  at  briefest;  but  when  one 


96  THE    COLD   SNAP 

has  shivered  till  the  flesh  is  lame,  and  every  quiver 
is  a  racking,  aching  pain,  that  is  something  quite 
different  from  any  ordinary  shivering.  My  wife 
was  awake  and  in  the  same  condition.  What  did 
I  ever  bring  her  to  this  terrible  country  for  ?  She 
had  been  lying  as  still  as  possible  for  an  hour  or 
so,  waiting  till  she  should  die  or  something ;  and 
feeling  that  if  she  stirred  she  should  freeze,  as 
water  near  the  freezing  point  crystallizes  when 
agitated.  She  said  that  when  I  had  disturbed  the 
clothes  by  any  movement,  she  had  felt  like  hating 
me.  We  were  both  almost  scared,  it  must  be  con 
fessed.  Such  an  experience  had  never  been  ours 
before.  In  voices  muffled  by  the  bedclothes  we 
held  dismal  confab,  and  concluded  that  we  must 
make  our  way  to  the  sitting-room  and  get  over  the 
register. 

I  have  had  my  share  of  unpleasant  duties  to  face 
in  my  life.  I  remember  how  I  felt  at  Spottsylvania 
when  I  stepped  up  and  out  from  behind  a  breast 
work  of  fence  rails,  over  which  the  bullets  were 
whistling  like  hailstones,  to  charge  the  enemy. 
Worse  still,  I  remember  how  I  felt  at  one  or  two 
public  banquets  when  I  rose  from  my  seat  to  reply 
to  a  toast,  and  to  meet  the  gaze  of  a  hundred  ex 
pectant  faces  with  an  overpowering  consciousness 
of  looking  like  a  fool,  and  of  total  inability  to  do  or 
say  anything  which  would  not  justify  the  presump 
tion.  But  never  did  an  act  of  my  life  call  for  so 
much  of  sheer  will-power  as  stepping  out  of  that 


THE   COLD   SNAP  97 

comfortless  bed  into  that  freezing  room.  It  is  a 
general  rule  in  getting  up  winter  mornings  that  the 
air  never  proves  so  cold  as  was  anticipated  while 
lying  warm  in  bed.  But  it  did  this  time,  probably 
because  my  system  was  deprived  of  all  elasticity 
and  power  of  reaction  by  being  so  thoroughly 
chilled.  Hastily  donning  in  the  dark  what  was 
absolutely  necessary,  my  poor  wife  and  myself, 
with  chattering  teeth  and  prickly  bodies,  the  most 
thoroughly  demoralized  couple  in  history,  ran  down 
stairs  to  the  sitting-room. 

Much  to  our  surprise,  we  found  the  gas  lighted 
and  the  other  members  of  the  family  already  gath 
ered  there,  huddling  over  the  register.  I  felt  a 
sinking  at  the  heart  as  I  marked  the  strained,  anx 
ious  look  on  each  face,  a  look  that  asked  what 
strange  thing  had  come  upon  us.  They  had  been 
there,  they  said,  for  some  time.  Ella,  Jim,  and 
Bill,  who  slept  alone,  had  been  the  first  to  leave 
their  beds.  Then  father  and  mother,  and  finally 
my  wife  and  I,  had  followed.  Soon  after  our 
arrival  there  was  a  fumbling  at  the  door,  and  the 
two  Irish  girls,  who  help  mother  keep  house,  put 
in  their  blue,  pinched  faces.  They  scarcely  waited 
an  invitation  to  come  up  to  the  register. 

The  room  was  but  dimly  lighted,  for  the  gas, 
affected  by  the  fearful  chill,  was  flowing  slowly  and 
threatened  to  go  out.  The  gloom  added  to  the 
depressing  effect  of  our  strange  situation.  Little 
was  said.  The  actual  occurrence  of  strange  and 


98  THE   COLD  SNAP 

unheard-of  events  excites  very  much  less  wonder 
ment  than  the  account  of  them  written  or  re 
hearsed.  Indeed,  the  feeling  of  surprise  often 
seems  wholly  left  out  of  the  mental  experience  of 
those  who  undergo  or  behold  the  most  prodigious 
catastrophes.  The  sensibility  to  the  marvelous 
is  the  one  of  our  faculties  which  is,  perhaps,  the 
soonest  exhausted  by  a  strain.  Human  nature 
takes  naturally  to  miracles,  after  all.  "  What  can 
it  mean  ?  "  was  the  inquiry  a  dozen  times  on  the 
lips  of  each  one  of  us,  but  beyond  that,  I  recall 
little  that  was  said.  Bill,  who  was  the  joker  of  the 
family,  had  essayed  a  jest  or  two  at  first  on  our 
strange  predicament,  but  they  had  been  poorly  re 
ceived.  The  discomfort  was  too  serious,  and  the 
extraordinary  nature  of  the  visitation  filled  every 
mind  with  nameless  forebodings  and  a  great,  un 
formed  fear. 

We  asked  each  other  if  our  neighbors  were  all 
in  the  same  plight  with  ourselves.  They  must  be, 
of  course,  and  many  of  them  far  less  prepared  to 
meet  it.  There  might  be  whole  families  in  the 
last  extremity  of  cold  right  about  us.  I  went  to 
the  window,  and  with  my  knife  scraped  away  the 
rime  of  frost,  an  eighth  of  an  inch  thick,  which 
obscured  it,  till  I  could  see  out.  A  whitish-gray 
light  was  on  the  landscape.  Every  object  seemed 
still,  with  a  quite  peculiar  stillness  that  might  be 
called  intense.  From  the  chimneys  of  some  of  the 
houses  around  thick  columns  of  smoke  and  sparks 


THE  COLD   SNAP  99 

were  pouring,  showing  that  the  fires  were  being 
crowded  below.  Other  chimneys  showed  no  smoke 
at  all.  Here  and  there  a  dull  light  shone  from 
a  window.  There  was  no  other  sign  of  life  any 
where.  The  streets  were  absolutely  empty.  No 
one  suggested  trying  to  communicate  with  other 
houses.  This  was  a  plight  in  which  human  con 
course  could  avail  nothing. 

After  piling  all  the  coal  on  the  furnace  it  would 
hold,  the  volume  of  heat  rising  from  the  register 
was  such  as  to  singe  the  clothes  of  those  over  it, 
while  those  waiting  their  turn  were  shivering  a  few 
feet  off.  The  men  of  course  yielded  the  nearest 
places  to  the  women,  and,  as  we  walked  briskly  up 
and  down  in  the  room,  the  frost  gathered  on  our 
mustaches.  The  morning,  we  said,  would  bring 
relief,  but  none  of  us  fully  believed  it,  for  the 
strange  experience  we  were  enduring  appeared  to 
imply  a  suspension  of  the  ordinary  course  of 
nature. 

A  number  of  cats  and  dogs,  driven  from  their 
accustomed  haunts  by  the  intense  cold,  had  gath 
ered  under  the  windows,  and  there  piteously 
moaned  and  whined  for  entrance. 

Swiftly  it  grew  colder.  The  iron  casing  of  the 
register  was  cold  in  spite  of  the  volume  of  heat 
pouring  through  it.  Every  point  or  surface  of 
metal  in  the  room  was  covered  with  a  thick  coating 
of  frost.  The  frost  even  settled  upon  a  few  fila 
ments  of  cobweb  in  the  corners  of  the  room  which 


100  THE   COLD   SNAP 

had  escaped  the  housemaid's  broom,  and  which 
now  shone  like  hidden  sins  in  the  day  of  judgment. 
The  door-knob,  mop-boards,  and  wooden  casings 
of  the  room  glistened.  We  were  so  chilled  that 
woolen  was  as  cold  to  the  touch  as  wood  or  iron. 
There  being  no  more  any  heat  in  our  bodies,  the 
non-conducting  quality  of  a  substance  was  no  ap 
preciable  advantage.  To  avoid  the  greater  cold 
near  the  floor,  several  of  our  number  got  upon  the 
tables,  presenting,  with  their  feet  tucked  under 
them,  an  aspect  that  would  have  been  sufficiently 
laughable  under  other  circumstances.  But,  as  a 
rule,  fun  does  not  survive  the  freezing  point. 
Every  few  moments  the  beams  of  the  house 
snapped  like  the  timbers  of  a  straining  ship,  and 
at  intervals  the  frozen  ground  cracked  with  a  noise 
like  cannon,  —  the  hyperborean  earthquake. 

A  ruddy  light  shone  against  the  windows.  Bill 
went  and  rubbed  away  the  ice.  A  neighbor's 
house  was  burning.  It  was  one  of  those  whose 
chimneys  were  vomiting  forth  sparks  when  I  had 
looked  out  before.  There  was  promise  of  an  ex 
tensive  conflagration.  Nobody  appeared  in  the 
streets,  and,  as  there  were  intervening  houses,  we 
could  not  see  what  became  of  the  inmates.  The 
very  slight  interest  which  this  threatening  confla 
gration  aroused  in  our  minds  was  doubtless  a  mark 
of  the  already  stupefying  effect  of  the  cold.  Even 
our  voices  had  become  weak  and  altered. 

The  cold  is  a  sad  enemy  to  beauty.     My  poor 


THE  COLD   SNAP  101 

wife  and  Ella,  with  their  pinched  faces,  strained, 
aching  expression,  red,  rheumy  eyes  and  noses,  and 
blue  or  pallid  cheeks  were  sad  parodies  on  their 
comely  selves.  Other  forces  of  nature  have  in 
them  something  the  spirit  of  man  can  sympathize 
with,  as  the  wind,  the  waves,  the  sun  ;  but  there  is 
something  terribly  inhuman  about  the  cold.  I  can 
imagine  it  as  a  congenial  principle  brooding  over 
the  face  of  chaos  in  the  aeons  before  light  was. 

Hours  had  passed,  it  might  have  been  years, 
when  father  said,  "  Let  us  pray."  He  knelt  down, 
and  we  all  mechanically  followed  his  example,  as 
from  childhood  up  we  had  done  at  morning  and 
evening.  Ever  before,  the  act  had  seemed  merely 
a  fit  and  graceful  ceremony,  from  which  no  one  had 
expected  anything  in  particular  to  follow,  or  had 
experienced  aught  save  the  placid  reaction  that 
commonly  results  from  a  devotional  act.  But  now 
the  meaning  so  long  latent  became  eloquent.  The 
morning  and  evening  ceremony  became  the  sole 
resource  in  an  imminent  and  fearful  emergency. 
There  was  a  familiar  strangeness  about  the  act 
under  these  circumstances  which  touched  us  all. 
With  me,  as  with  most,  something  of  the  feeling 
implied  in  the  adage,  "  Familiarity  breeds  con 
tempt,"  had  impaired  my  faith  in  the  practical  effi 
cacy  of  prayer.  How  could  extraordinary  results 
be  expected  from  so  common  an  instrumentality, 
and  especially  from  so  ordinary  and  every-day  a 
thing  as  family  prayer?  Our  faith  in  the  present 


102  THE  COLD   SNAP 

instance  was  also  not  a  little  lessened  by  the  pe 
culiar  nature  of  the  visitation.  In  any  ordinary 
emergency  God  might  help  us,  but  we  had  a  sort 
of  dim  apprehension  that  even  He  could  not  do 
anything  in  such  weather.  So  far  as  humbleness 
was  concerned,  there  was  no  lack  of  that.  There 
are  some  inflictions  which,  although  terrible,  are 
capable  of  stirring  in  haughty  human  hearts  a 
rebellious  indignation.  But  to  cold  succumb  soul 

O 

and  mind.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  cold 
would  have  broken  down  Milton's  Satan.  I  felt 
as  if  I  could  grovel  to  be  vouchsafed  a  moment's 

O 

immunity  from  the  gripe  of  the  savage  frost. 

Owing  to  the  sustaining  power  there  is  in 
habit,  the  participation  in  family  devotions  proved 
strengthening  to  us  all.  In  emergencies,  we  get 
back  from  our  habits  the  mental  and  moral  vigor 
that  first  went  to  their  formation,  and  has  since 
remained  on  interest. 

It  is  not  the  weakest  who  succumb  first  to  cold, 
as  was  strikingly  proved  in  our  experience.  The 
prostration  of  the  faculties  may  be  long  postponed 
by  the  power  of  the  will.  All  assaults  on  human 
nature,  whether  of  cold,  exhaustion,  terror,  or  any 
other  kind,  respect  the  dignity  of  the  mind,  and 
await  its  capitulation  before  finally  storming  the 
stronghold  of  life.  I  am  as  strong  in  physique  as 
men  average,  but  I  gave  out  before  my  mother. 
The  voices  of  mother  and  Bill,  as  they  took  coun 
sel  for  our  salvation,  fell  on  my  ears  like  an  idle 
sound.  This  was  the  crisis  of  the  night. 

*j3fi+ 


THE   COLD   SNAP  103 

The  next  thing  I  knew,  Bill  was  urging  us  to  eat 
some  beefsteak  and  bread.  The  former,  I  after 
ward  learned,  he  had  got  out  of  the  pantry  and 
cooked  over  the  furnace  fire.  It  was  about  five 
o'clock,  and  we  had  eaten  nothing  for  nearly  twelve 
hours.  The  general  exhaustion  of  our  powers  had 
prevented  a  natural  appetite  from  making  itself 
felt,  but  mother  had  suggested  that  we  should  try 
food,  and  it  saved  us.  It  was  still  fearfully  cold, 
but  the  danger  was  gone  as  soon  as  we  felt  the 
reviving  effect  of  the  food.  An  ounce  of  food  is 
worth  a  pound  of  blankets.  Trying  to  warm  the 
body  from  the  outside  is  working  at  a  tremendous 
disadvantage.  It  was  a  strange  picnic  as,  perched 
on  chairs  and  tables  in  the  dimly  lighted  room,  we 
munched  our  morsels,  or  warmed  the  frozen  bread 
over  the  register.  After  this,  some  of  us  got  a 
little  sleep. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  sensations  when,  at  last, 
I  looked  out  at  the  eastern  window  and  saw  the 
rising  sun.  The  effect  was  indeed  peculiarly  splen 
did,  for  the  air  was  full  of  particles  of  ice,  and  the 
sun  had  the  effect  of  shining  through  a  mist  of  dia 
mond  dust.  Bill  had  dosed  us  with  whiskey,  and 
perhaps  it  had  got  into  our  heads,  for  I  shouted, 
and  my  wife  cried.  It  was,  at  the  end  of  the  weary 
night,  like  the  first  sight  of  our  country's  flag  when 
returning  from  a  foreign  world. 


TWO  DAYS'  SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT 

MR.  JOSEPH  KILGORE  was  suffering  from  one 
of  those  spring  influenzas  which  make  a  man  feel 
as  if  he  were  his  own  grandfather.  His  nose  had 
acquired  the  shape  of  a  turnip  and  the  complexion 
of  a  beet.  All  his  bones  ached  as  if  he  had  been 
soundly  thrashed,  and  his  eyes  were  weak  and 
watery.  Your  deadly  disease  is  oftener  than  not 
a  gentleman  who  takes  your  life  without  mauling 
you,  but  the  minor  diseases  are  mere  bruisers  who 
just  go  in  for  making  one  as  uncomfortable  and 
unpresentable  as  possible.  Mr.  Kilgore's  influenza 
had  been  coming  on  for  several  days,  and  when  he 
woke  up  this  particular  morning  and  heard  the 
rain  dripping  on  the  piazza-roof  just  under  his  bed 
room-window,  he  concluded,  like  a  sensible  man, 
that  he  would  stay  at  home  and  nurse  himself  over 
the  fire  that  day,  instead  of  going  to  the  office.  So 
he  turned  over  and  snoozed  for  an  hour  or  two, 
luxuriating  in  a  sense  of  aches  and  pains  just  pro 
nounced  enough  to  make  the  warmth  and  softness 
of  the  bed  delightful. 

Toward  noon,  the  edge  of  this  enjoyment  becom 
ing  dulled,  he  got  up,  dressed,  and  came  down 
stairs  to  the  parlor,  where  his  brother's  wife  (he 


TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY   IMPRISONMENT     105 

was  a  bachelor,  living  with  a  married  brother)  had 
considerately  kindled  up  a  coal-fire  in  the  grate  for 
his  benefit. 

After  lying  off  in  the  rocking-chair  till  past  din 
ner-time,  he  began  to  feel  better  and  consequently 
restless.  Concluding  that  he  would  like  to  read, 
he  went  rummaging  about  the  bookcases  for  a 
likely-looking  novel.  At  length  he  found  in  the 
upper  shelf  of  a  closet  a  book  called  "  Roles  of  a 
Detective,"  containing  various  thrilling  accounts 
of  crimes  and  the  entanglement  of  criminals  in  the 
meshes  of  law  and  evidence. 

One  story  in  particular  made  a  strong  impres 
sion  on  his  mind.  It  was  a  tale  of  circumstantial 
evidence,  and  about  how  it  very  nearly  hung  an 
innocent  man  for  a  murder  which  he  had  no  thought 
of  committing.  It  struck  Joseph  rather  forcibly 
that  this  victim  of  circumstantial  evidence  was  as 
respectable  and  inoffensive  a  person  as  himself, 
and  probably  had  never  any  more  thought  of  being 
in  danger  from  the  law.  Circumstances  had  set 
their  trap  for  him  while  he  was  quite  unconscious 
of  peril,  and  he  only  awoke  to  find  himself  in  the 
toils.  And  from  this  he  went  on  to  reflect  upon 
the  horrible  but  unquestionable  fact  that  every 
year  a  certain  proportion,  and  perhaps  a  very  con 
siderable  proportion,  of  those  who  suffered  the 
penalties  of  the  law,  and  even  the  death-penalty, 
are  innocent  men,  —  victims  of  false  or  mistaken 
evidence.  No  man,  however  wise  or  virtuous,  can 


106     TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY   IMPRISONMENT 

be  sure  that  he  will  not  be  taken  in  this  fearful 
conscription  of  victims  to  the  blind  deity  of  justice. 
"  None  can  tell,"  thought  Joseph,  with  a  shudder, 
"  that  the  word  he  is  saying,  the  road  he  is  turn 
ing,  the  appointment  he  is  making,  or  whatever 
other  innocent  act  he  is  now  engaged  in,  may  not 
prove  the  last  mesh  in  some  self-woven  death-net, 
the  closing  link  in  some  damning  chain  of  evidence 
whose  devilish  subtlety  shall  half  convince  him  that 
he  must  be  guilty  as  it  wholly  convinces  others." 

Timidity  is  generally  associated  with  imagina 
tiveness,  if  not  its  result,  and  Joseph,  although  he 
concealed  the  fact  pretty  well  under  the  mask  of 
reticence,  was  constitutionally  very  timid.  He  had 
an  unprofitable  habit  of  taking  every  incident  of 
possible  embarrassment  or  danger  that  occurred  to 
his  mind  as  the  suggestion  for  imaginary  situations 
of  inconvenience  or  peril,  which  he  would  then 
work  out,  fancying  how  he  would  feel  and  what  he 
would  do,  with  the  utmost  elaboration,  and  often 
with  really  more  nervous  excitement  than  he  would 
be  likely  to  experience  if  the  events  supposed 
should  really  occur.  So  now,  and  all  the  more 
because  he  was  a  little  out  of  sorts,  the  suggestions 
of  this  story  began  to  take  the  form  in  his  mind 
of  an  imaginary  case  of  circumstantial  evidence 
of  which  he  was  the  victim.  His  fancy  worked 
up  the  details  of  a  fictitious  case  against  himself, 
which  he,  although  perfectly  innocent,  could  meet 
with  nothing  more  than  his  bare  denial. 


TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY   IMPRISONMENT     107 

He  imagined  the  first  beginnings  of  suspicion ; 
he  saw  it  filming  the  eyes  of  his  acquaintances, 
then  of  his  friends,  and  at  last  sicklying  over  the 
face  even  of  his  brother  Silas.  In  fancy  he  made 
frantic  attempts  to  regain  the  confidence  of  his 
friends,  to  break  through  the  impalpable,  impene-  I 
trable  barrier  which  the  first  stir  of  suspicion  had  \ 
put  between  their  minds  and  his.  He  cried,  he 
begged,  he  pleaded.  But  in  vain,  all  in  vain.  Sus 
picion  had  made  his  appeals  and  adjurations  sound 
even  to  his  friends  as  strange  and  meaningless  as 
the  Babel-builders'  words  of  a  sudden  became  to 
each  other.  The  yellow  badge  of  suspicion  once 
upon  him,  all  men  kept  afar,  as  if  he  were  a  fever- 
ship  in  quarantine.  No  solitary  imprisonment  in  a 
cell  of  stone  could  so  utterly  exclude  him  from  the 
fellowship  of  men  as  the  invisible  walls  of  this  dun 
geon  of  suspicion.  And  at  last  he  saw  himself  giv 
ing  up  the  hopeless  struggle,  yielding  to  his  fate 
in  dumb  despair,  only  praying  that  the  end  might 
come  speedily,  perhaps  even  reduced  to  the  abject- 
ness  of  confessing  the  crime  he  had  not  committed, 
in  order  that  he  might  at  least  have  the  pity  of 
men,  since  he  could  not  regain  their  confidence. 
And  so  strongly  had  this  vision  taken  hold  on  him 
that  his  breath  came  irregularly,  and  his  forehead 
was  damp  as  he  drew  his  hand  across  it. 

As  has  been  intimated,  it  was  Mr.  Joseph  Kil- 
gore's  very  bad  habit  to  waste  his  nervous  tissue 
in  the  conscientiously  minute  elaboration  of  such 


108     TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT 

painful  imaginary  situations  as  that  above  de 
scribed,  and  in  his  present  experience  there  was 
nothing  particularly  novel  or  extraordinary  for 
him.  It  was  the  occurrence  of  a  singular  coinci 
dence  between  this  internal  experience  and  a  wholly 
independent  course  of  actual  events,  which  made 
that  waking  nightmare  the  beginning  of  a  some 
what  remarkable  comedy,  or,  more  properly,  a 
tragedy,  of  errors.  For,  as  Joseph  lay  back  in  his 
chair,  in  a  state  of  nervous  exhaustion  and  moral 
collapse,  the  parlor-door  was  thrown  open,  and 
Mrs.  Silas  Kilgore,  his  sister-in-law,  burst  into  the 
room.  She  was  quite  pale,  and  her  black  eyes 
were  fixed  on  Joseph's  with  the  eager  intensity,  as 
if  seeking  moral  support,  noticeable  in  those  who 
communicate  startling  news  which  they  have  not 
had  time  to  digest. 

The  effect  of  this  apparition  upon  Joseph  in  his 
unstrung  condition  may  be  readily  imagined.  He 
sprang  up,  much  paler  than  Mrs.  Kilgore,  his  lips 
apart,  and  his  eyes  staring  with  the  premonition  of 
something  shocking.  These  symptoms  of  extraor 
dinary  excitement  even  before  she  had  spoken,  and 
this  air  as  if  he  had  expected  a  shocking  revela 
tion,  recurred  to  her  mind  later,  in  connection  with 
other  circumstances,  but  just  now  she  was  too  full 
of  her  intelligence  to  dwell  on  anything  else. 

"  A  man  was  murdered  in  our  barn  last  night. 
They  've  found  the  body  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

As  the  meaning  of  her  words  broke  on  him,  Jo- 


TWO   DAYS'   SOLITARY   IMPRISONMENT     109 

seph  was  filled  with  that  sort  of  mental  confusion 
which  one  experiences  when  the  scene  or  circum 
stances  of  a  dream  recur  in  actual  life.  Was  he 
still  dreaming  that  ghostly  vision  of  suspicion  and 
the  death-trap  of  circumstances  ?  Was  this  a  mere 
continuation  of  it  ?  No,  he  was  awake  ;  his  sister- 
in-law  standing  there,  with  pallid  face  and  staring 
eyes,  was  not  an  apparition.  The  horrid,  fatal 
reality  which  he  had  been  imagining  was  actually 
upon  him. 

"  I  did  not  do  it !  "  dropped  from  his  ashen  lips. 

"  You  do  it  ?  Are  you  crazy  ?  Who  said  any 
thing  about  your  doing  it  ? "  cried  the  astounded 
woman. 

The  ring  of  genuine  amazement  in  her  voice  was 
scarcely  needed  to  recall  Joseph  to  the  practical 
bearing  of  his  surroundings,  and  break  the  spell  of 
superstitious  dread.  The  sound  of  his  own  words 
had  done  it.  With  a  powerful  effort  he  regained 
something  like  self-control,  and  said,  with  a  forced 
laugh :  — 

"  What  an  absurd  thing  for  me  to  say !  I  don't 
know  what  I  could  have  been  thinking  of.  Very 
odd,  was  it  not  ?  But,  dear  me  !  a  man  murdered 
in  our  barn  ?  You  don't  tell  me  !  How  terrible  !  " 

His  constrained,  overdone  manner  was  not  cal 
culated  to  abate  Mrs.  Kilgore's  astonishment,  and 
she  continued  to  stare  at  him  with  an  expression 
in  which  a  vague  terror  began  to  appear.  There 
are  few  shorter  transitions  than  that  from  panic  to 


110     TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY   IMPRISONMENT 

anger.  Seeing  that  her  astonishment  at  his  recep 
tion  of  the  news  increased  rather  than  diminished, 
he  became  exasperated  at  the  intolerable  position 
in  which  he  was  placed.  His  face,  before  so  pale, 
flushed  with  anger. 

"  Damnation  !  What  are  you  staring  at  me  that 
way  for?"  he  cried  fiercely. 

Mrs.  Kilgore  gave  a  little  cry,  half  of  indig 
nation,  half  of  fright,  and  went  out  of  the  room, 
shutting  the  door  after  her. 

Joseph  had  ample  opportunity  to  review  the 
situation  before  he  was  again  disturbed,  which,  in 
deed,  was  not  till  some  hours  later,  at  dusk,  when 
Silas  came  home,  and  the  tea-table  was  set.  Silas 
had  been  promptly  summoned  from  his  shop  when 
the  discovery  of  the  body  was  made,  and  had  been 
busy  all  the  afternoon  with  the  police,  the  coroner, 
and  the  crowds  of  visitors  to  the  scene  of  the 
tragedy. 

The  conversation  at  the  tea-table  ran  entirely 
upon  the  various  incidents  of  the  discovery,  the  in 
quest,  and  the  measures  of  the  police  for  the  appre 
hension  of  the  criminal.  Mrs.  Kilgore  was  so  full 
of  questions  that  she  scarcely  gave  Silas  time  to 
answer,  and  Joseph  flattered  himself  that  his  com 
parative  silence  was  not  noticeable.  Nevertheless, 
as  they  rose  from  the  table,  Silas  remarked :  — 

"  You  don't  seem  much  interested  in  our  mur 
der,  Joseph ;  you  have  n't  asked  the  first  question 
about  it." 


TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT     111 

Mrs.  Kilgore  was  just  leaving  the  room,  and  she 
turned  her  head  to  see  how  he  would  answer.  But 
he,  too,  turned  off  the  matter  by  saying  something 
about  Maria's  loquaciousness  having  left  him  no 
chance.  After  tea  the  little  family  circle  was  gath 
ered  in  the  parlor.  Mrs.  Kilgore  was  sewing; 
Silas  read  the  newspaper,  and  Joseph  sat  up  by 
the  fire.  From  time  to  time,  as  he  glanced  around, 
he  caught  Mrs.  Kilgore's  eyes  studying  him  very 
intently.  Her  manner  indicated  that  her  indigna 
tion  at  his  behavior  and  language  earlier  in  the 
afternoon  had  been  quite  neutralized  by  her  curi 
osity  as  to  its  cause. 

"  There  's  nothing  in  the  paper  to-night  but  the 
murder,  and  I  know  that  already,"  exclaimed  Silas, 
finally.  "  Maria,  where 's  there  something  to  read  ? 
Hullo!  what's  this?" 

He  had  taken  up  from  the  table  the  story  of 
circumstantial  evidence  which  Joseph  had  been 
reading  that  morning. 

"  Why,  Maria,  here 's  that  murder-book  you 
would  n't  let  me  finish  last  summer  for  fear  I  'd 
murder  you  some  night.  Who  on  earth  hunted 
up  that  book  of  all  books,  to-day  of  all  days  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  replied  Joseph,  clearing  his  throat,  in 
order  to  speak  with  a  natural  inflection. 

"  You  did  ?  "  exclaimed  Silas. 

"  You  must  have  looked  the  house  over  to  find 
it,  for  I  hid  it  carefully,"  said  Mrs.  Kilgore,  look 
ing  sharply  at  him.  "  What  made  you  so  anxious 
to  get  it  ?  " 


112     TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT 

"  I  was  not  particularly  anxious.  I  was  merely 
looking  for  something  to  read,"  said  Joseph,  mak 
ing  a  pretense  of  yawning,  as  if  the  matter  was  a 
very  trivial  one. 

"  I  suppose  the  murder  brought  it  to  his  mind," 
said  Silas. 

u  Why,  no !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kilgore  quickly. 
"  You  must  have  been  reading  it  before  the  mur 
der.  Now  that  I  remember,  I  saw  it  in  your 
hands." 

"  Before  the  murder,  were  you,  Joseph  ?  Why, 
that's  almost  enough  to  make  one  feel  supersti 
tious,"  said  Silas,  turning  around  in  his  chair,  so 
as  to  look  fairly  at  him. 

Joseph  had  half  a  mind  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  the  matter  then  and  there,  and  explain  to  them 
how  curiously  the  reading  of  that  book  had  affected 
him.  But  he  reflected  that  Silas  was  rather  unim 
aginative,  and  would  probably  be  more  mystified 
than  enlightened  by  his  explanation. 

"  I  do  believe  it  was  reading  that  book  which 
made  you  act  so  queerly  when  I  brought  you  in  the 
news  of  the  murder,"  pursued  Mrs.  Kilgore. 

"How  is  that?  How  did  he  act  queerly?" 
asked  Silas. 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  I  acted  queerly  at  all," 
said  Joseph  doggedly. 

He  knew  well  enough  he  had  acted  queerly,  and 
did  not  mean  to  deny  that ;  but,  as  children  and 
confused  persons  often  do,  he  answered  to  the 


TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT     113 

underlying  motive  rather  than  the  language.  He 
only  thought  of  denying  the  inference  of  suspicion 
that  her  words  seemed  to  him  to  suggest.  But  to 
Mrs.  Kilgore  he  very  naturally  seemed  to  be  pre 
varicating. 

"  Why,  Joseph !  "  said  she,  in  a  raised  voice,  and 
with  a  slight  asperity  ;  "  you  know  how  you  jumped 
up,  looking  like  a  ghost,  the  moment  I  opened  the 
door,  and  the  first  thing  you  said  after  I  'd  told  you 
that  they  'd  found  a  murdered  man  in  the  barn, 
was  —  Why,  Joseph,  what 's  the  matter  ?  " 

But  I  must  go  back  a  little.  When  the  conver 
sation  turned  on  the  book  and  Joseph's  connection 
with  it,  a  minute  or  so  previous,  Silas  had  quite 
naturally  glanced  over  at  his  brother,  and,  as  the 
talk  went  on,  his  glance  had  become  a  somewhat 
concentrated  gaze,  although  expressive  of  nothing 
but  the  curiosity  and  slight  wonder  which  the  cir 
cumstances  suggested.  It  would  not  do  to  have 
Silas  think  that  he  avoided  his  eyes,  and  so  Joseph 
had,  as  soon  as  he  felt  this  gaze,  turned  his  own  face 
rather  sharply  toward  it.  He  had  njeant  merely 
to  meet  his  brother's  look  in  a  natural  and  unaf 
fected  manner.  But,  although  never  more  sensible 
of  just  what  such  a  manner  would  be,  he  was  utterly 
unable  to  compass  it.  He  was  perfectly  aware  that 
the  expression  of  his  eyes  was  much  too  serious  and 
challenging,  —  and  yet  he  could  not,  for  the  soul  of 
him,  modify  it.  Nor  did  he  dare  to  withdraw  his 
gaze  after  it  had  once  met  his  brother's,  although 


114     TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT 

knowing  that  it  was  fast  becoming  a  fierce  stare, 
and  perceiving  that  Silas  had  already  noticed  some 
thing  peculiar  in  it.  For  to  drop  his  eyes  would 
be  utter  discomfiture  and  rout.  As  Mrs.  Kilgore 
alluded  to  his  queer  demeanor  when  she  told  him 
the  news,  his  face  began  to  flush  with  the  anticipa 
tion  of  the  revelation  that  was  coming  at  this  most 
unfavorable  moment,  even  while  his  eyes  were 
locked  with  the  already  startled  ones  of  Silas.  As 
she  went  on,  the  flush  covered  the  lower  part  of  his 
face,  and  rose  like  a  spring-tide  up  his  cheeks,  and 
lent  a  fierce,  congested  glare  to  his  eyes.  He  felt 
how  woeful  and  irretrievable  a  thing  it  would  be 
for  him  just  then  to  lose  his  countenance,  and  at 
the  thought  the  flush  burned  deeper  and  merged 
higher.  It  overspread  his  high,  bald,  intellectual 
forehead,  and  incarnadined  his  sconce  up  to  the 
very  top  of  it.  At  this  moment  it  was  that  Mrs. 
Kilgore  broke  off  her  narrative  with  the  exclama 
tion,  "  Why,  Joseph,  what 's  the  matter  ?  " 

At  her  words  it  seemed  as  if  every  drop  of  blood 
in  his  body«poured  into  his  face.  He  could  endure 
it  no  longer.  He  rose  abruptly,  strode  out  of  the 
parlor,  and  went  to  his  room,  although  it  was  but 
eight  o'clock,  and  he  had  no  fire  there.  If  he  had 
staid  another  moment  he  must  have  brained  Silas 
and  his  wife  with  the  poker,  such  an  ungovernable 
anger  boiled  up  in  him  with  the  sense  of  his  cause 
less,  shameful  discomfiture. 

As  Joseph  left  the  parlor  the  eyes  of  Silas  and 


TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT     115 

his  wife  met  each  other,  —  his  dull  with  bewilder 
ment  and  terror  at  a  spectral  fear  ;  hers  keen  with 
a  definite  suspicion.  But  even  her  loquacity  was 
subdued  by  a  real  fright.  She  had  nothing  to  say. 
Her  sensation  was  like  that  of  one  who,  hunting  a 
hare,  stumbles  upon  a  wolf.  She  had  been  both 
offended  and  made  curious  by  Joseph's  demeanor 
that  afternoon,  but  the  horrid  idea  that  within  a 
moment  had  been  suggested  to  both  their  minds 
had  so  little  occurred  to  her  as  a  serious  possibility 
that  she  was  even  on  the  point  of  rallying  Joseph 
on  it  before  her  husband.  Some  time  after  he  had 
left  the  parlor  Silas  asked,  with  averted  face  :  — 

"  What  was  it  that  he  said  when  you  told  him 
the  news?  "  and  then  she  repeated  his  words. 

And  Joseph,  sitting  wild-eyed  upon  his  bed  in 
the  darkness  in  the  room  above,  red  no  longer,  but 
pale  as  death,  heard  the  murmur  of  the  voices,  and 
knew  that  she  was  telling  him.  No  one  of  the 
household  slept  much  that  night,  except  Mrs.  Kil- 
gore.  Whenever  she  awoke  she  heard  her  husband 
tossing  restlessly,  but  she  dared  not  ask  him  what 
was  the  matter.  In  vain  did  Silas  rehearse  to  him 
self  all  through  the  night-hours  how  petty  were  the 
trifles  in  Joseph's  demeanor  which  had  disturbed 
him.  They  were  of  the  sort  of  trifles  which  create 
that  species  of  certainty  known  as  moral  certainty, 
—  the  strongest  of  all  in  the  mind  it  occupies,  al 
though  so  incapable  of  being  communicated  to 
others.  It  mattered  little  how  much  evidence  there 


116     TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY   IMPRISONMENT 

was,  if  it  sufficed  to  lodge  the  faintest  trace  of  sus 
picion  in  his  mind.  For,  like  some  poisons,  an 
atom  of  suspicion  is  as  fatal  as  the  largest  quantity, 
Nay,  perhaps,  even  more  surely  so,  for  against 
great  suspicion  the  mind  often  takes  arms  and 
makes  valiant  head ;  but  a  little  doubt,  by  its  timid 
and  hesitant  demeanor,  disarms  opposition,  and  is 
readily  entertained.  And  all  that  night,  lying 
awake,  and  knowing  that  Silas  was  sleepless  just 
the  other  side  of  the  partition,  and  that  the  fungus 
of  suspicion  was  moment  by  moment  overgrowing 
his  mind,  he  could  hardly  wait  for  morning,  but 
would  fain  have  rushed,  even  now  in  the  darkness, 
to  his  bedside  to  cry  :  "  I  did  not  do  it !  Believe 
me,  brother,  I  did  not  do  it ! " 

In  the  morning,  however,  the  sun  shone  brightly 
into  his  room,  and  last  night's  events  and  misun 
derstandings  seemed  like  a  bad  dream.  He  went 
downstairs  almost  cheery.  He  did  not  find  Silas, 
but  Mrs.  Kilgore  was  about.  He  was  rather 
startled  to  observe  the  entire  change  in  her  de 
meanor.  Yesterday  she  was  constantly  following 
him  up  with  her  sharp  black  eyes  and  brisk  ques 
tions  and  exclamations,  but  now  she  seemed  fright 
ened,  acted  in  a  constrained  manner,  and  avoided 
his  eyes. 

"  Where  is  Silas  ?  "  he  asked,  as  they  sat  down 
to  table. 

"  He  said  that  there  was  something  he  must  see 
to  at  the  shop  before  work  began,  so  he  had  an 


TWO   DAYS'    SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT     117 

early  breakfast,"   replied   Mrs.    Kilgore,  with  her 
eyes  on  her  plate. 

Had  she  been  looking  up,  she  would  have  seen  a 
piteous  constriction  in  the  muscles  of  Joseph's  face. 
His  heart  was  sick,  and  all  his  regained  courage 
sank  away.  It  was  no  bad  dream.  Silas  was  afraid 
to  meet  him.  He  left  his  meal  untasted,  and  went 
to  the  office.  A  dozen  acquaintances  stopped  him 
on  his  way  down-street  to  ask  about  the  murder ; 
and  all  day  long  somebody  was  dropping  in  to 
pester  him  on  the  same  subject.  He  told  them 
with  a  dull,  abstracted  air  all  the  fresh  details  he 
knew,  but  felt  all  the  time  as  if  he  cheated  each 
auditor  of  the  vital  part  of  the  matter,  in  that  he 
failed  to  shout  after  him  :  — 

"  Silas  suspects  me  of  it !  " 

Silas  had,  indeed,  left  the  house  early  for  the 
purpose  of  avoiding  his  brother.  He  was  in  a  con 
dition  of  mind  and  nerve  in  which  he  did  not  dare 
to  meet  him.  At  tea  the  brothers  met  for  the  first 
time  since  the  night  previous.  There  was  a  con 
straint  between  them  like  that  between  strangers, 
but  stronger  and  more  chilling  far  than  ever  that 
is.  There  is  no  chill  like  that  which  comes  between 
friends,  and  the  nearer  the  friends  the  more  deathly 
the  cold.  Silas  made  a  little  effort  to  speak  of 
business-matters,  but  could  not  keep  it  up,  and  soon 
a  silence  settled  over  the  party,  only  broken  by  the 
words  of  table-service.  Mrs.  Kilgore  sat  pale  and 
frightened  all  through  the  meal  without  venturing 


118     TWO   DAYS'    SOLITARY   IMPRISONMENT 

a  single  phrase,  and  scarcely  looking  up  from  her 
plate. 

The  silence  was  of  that  kind  which  all  felt  to  be 
more  expressive  than  the  loudest,  most  explicit  lan 
guage  could  be,  —  more  merciless  than  any  form  of 
verbal  accusation.  Such  silence  is  a  terribly  perfect 
medium,  in  which  souls  are  compelled  to  touch  each 
other,  resent  as  they  may  the  contact.  Several 
times  Joseph  was  on  the  point  of  rising  and  rush 
ing  from  the  table.  How  many  more  such  meals 
could  he  stand  or  could  they  stand  ?  All  of  them 
recognized  that  the  situation  had  become  percepti 
bly  more  serious  and  more  pronounced  on  account 
of  that  silent  tea-table. 

There  was  in  particular  not  the  slightest  allusion 
made  by  any  one  to  the  murder,  which,  seeing  that 
it  had  happened  but  yesterday,  and  would  naturally 
still  have  been  an  engrossing  topic,  was  an  omission 
so  pointed  as  to  be  an  open  charge  of  guilt.  There 
is  such  a  thing  as  emphasizing  a  topic  by  suppress 
ing  it,  as  letters  are  sunk  into  stone.  The  omission 
impressed  Silas  as  it  did  Joseph,  but,  regarding 
it  from  his  point  of  view,  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
but  that  Joseph  was  the  one  solely  responsible  for 
it.  He,  Silas,  had  refrained  from  reference  to  it 
because  his  suspicions  in  regard  to  Joseph  made  the 
topic  unendurable.  But  he  could  not  imagine  that 
Joseph  could  have  had  any  other  motive  for  his 
silence  on  the  subject  but  a  guilty  conscience,  — 
some  secret  knowledge  of  the  crime.  Thus  regarded, 


TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY   IMPRISONMENT     119 

it  was  a  terrible  confirmation.  That  a  perception 
that  he  was  suspected  might  cause  an  innocent 
man  to  act  very  much  as  if  he  were  conscious  of 
guilt  did  not  occur  to  Silas,  as,  perhaps,  it  would 
have  failed  to  occur  to  most  persons  in  just  his 
position. 

After  leaving  the  tea-table  the  brothers  went  to 
gether  into  the  parlor,  according  to  the  family  cus 
tom.  They  took  their  accustomed  seats  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  fireplace,  but  there  was  no  conversation. 
A  veil  was  between  them.  Both  were  thinking  of 
the  same  thing,  —  thinking  of  it  intensely,  —  and 
each  knew  that  the  other  was  thinking  of  it,  and 
yet  neither  for  worlds  could  have  commanded  the 
courage  to  speak  of  it.  The  suspicion  had  grown 
definite  in  Silas's  mind,  and  yet,  whenever  he 
brought  himself  to  the  point  of  putting  it  in  words, 
it  suddenly  seemed  impossible,  cruel,  and  absurd. 
But  if  Silas  found  it  impossible  to  speak,  far  more 
so  it  seemed  to  Joseph. 

To  charge  another  with  suspecting  us  is  half  to 
confess  ourselves  worthy  of  suspicion.  It  is  demor 
alizing,  —  it  is  to  abandon  the  pride  of  conscious 
rectitude.  To  deny  an  accusation  is  to  concede  to 
it  a  possibility,  a  color  of  reason  ;  and  Joseph 
shrank  with  unutterable  repugnance  from  that. 
He  felt  that  he  could  be  torn  limb  from  limb  sooner 
than  betray  by  a  word  that  he  recognized  the  exist 
ence  of  suspicion  so  abominable.  Besides,  of  what 
avail  would  be  a  denial  without  evidence  to  dis- 


120     TWO   DAYS'    SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT 

prove  a  suspicion  which  had  arisen  without  evi 
dence  ?  It  was  a  thing  too  impalpable  to  contend 
with.  As  well  fight  a  fog  as  seek  to  destroy  by 
mere  denial  suspicion  so  vague,  unsubstantial,  and 
subtile,  as  that  which  enveloped  him.  Silas  would, 
of  course,  eagerly  accept  his  denial ;  he  well  knew 
how  he  would  spring  to  his  side,  how  warm  and 
firm  would  be  his  hand-clasp,  and  how  great,  per 
haps,  his  momentary  relief.  But  he  was,  after  all, 
but  human,  and  no  man  can  control  his  doubts. 
Silas  would  still  be  unable,  when  he  thought  the 
matter  over,  to  help  the  feeling  that  there  was, 
after  all,  something  very  strange  about  his  conduct 
from  first  to  last.  It  is  the  subtiler  nature  of  doubt 
to  penetrate  the  heart  more  profoundly  than  confi 
dence,  and  to  underlie  it.  No  generous  St.  George 
of  faith  can  reach  the  nether  den  where  it  lurks. 
Or,  rather,  is  it  like  the  ineradicable  witch-grass 
which,  though  it  be  hewed  off  at  the  surface,  still 
lives  at  the  root,  and  springs  forth  luxuriantly  again 
at  the  first  favoring  season  ?  • 

Moreover,  Joseph  hoped  that  some  circumstance, 
the  detection  of  the  murderer,  or  a  healthier  moral 
tone,  might  dissipate  the  cloud  of  suspicion  between 
them,  and  then  it  would  be  far  better  not  to  have 
spoken,  for,  once  put  in  words,  the  hateful  thing 
would  ever  remain  a  mutual  memory,  never  again 
to  be  denied,  and  which  might  come  up  to  their 
minds  whenever  they  looked  each  other  in  the  eye 
thereafter.  And  so  the  brothers  sat  opposite  each 


TWO   DAYS'   SOLITARY   IMPRISONMENT     121 

other  in  silence,  their  faces  growing  grayer  as  the 
clock  ticked. 

"  The  weather  is  growing  cooler  again,"  said 
Joseph,  at  last,  rising  to  go  to  his  room. 

It  was  at  least  two  hours  before  his  usual  bed 
time,  but  he  could  sit  there  no  longer. 

"  Yes,  I  think  we  shall  have  a  frost,"  replied 
Silas,  and  the  brothers  parted. 

After  Joseph  had  gone,  Mrs.  Kilgore  came  into 
the  parlor  and  sat  down  with  some  sewing.  She 
waited  for  her  husband  to  speak  and  tell  her  if  Jo 
seph  had  said  anything.  But  he  sat  there  staring 
at  the  wall,  and  took  no  notice  of  her.  Although 
she  knew  so  well  what  had  been  preying  upon  his 
mind  since  last  evening,  yet  he  had  not  once 
referred  to  the  matter,  and  she  had  not  dared  to 
do  so.  It  was  hard  for  a  talkative  little  lady  like 
her  to  understand  this  reticence  about  a  matter  so 
deeply  felt.  She  could  not  comprehend  that  there 
may  be  griefs  so  ghastly  that  we  dare  not  lift  from 
them  the  veil  of  silence.  She  wanted  to  "  talk  it 
over  "  a  little.  She  felt  that  would  do  Silas  good, 
because  she  knew  it  would  be  a  relief  to  her.  Nor 
was  she  insensible  to  the  gratification  it  would 
afford  her  vanity  to  discuss  so  serious  a  matter 
with  her  husband,  whose  general  tone  with  her  was 
one  of  jest  and  pleasantry,  to  the  disparagement  of 
her  intellectual  powers,  as  she  thought.  So,  after 
glancing  up  several  times  timidly  at  Silas's  still  set 
profile,  she  said,  in  a  weighty  little  voice  :  — 


122     TWO   DAYS'    SOLITARY   IMPRISONMENT 

"  Don't  you  think  Joseph  behaves  very  strangely 
about  the  murder  ?  "  Her  words  seemed  to  be  sev 
eral  seconds  in  making  an  impression  on  Silas's 
mind,  and  then  he  slowly  turned  his  face  full  upon 
her.  It  was  a  terrible  look.  The  squared  jaw,  the 
drawn  lips,  the  dull,  distant  stare,  repulsed  her 
as  one  might  repulse  a  stranger  intermeddling 
with  a  bitter  private  grief.  Who  was  she,  to  come 
between  him  and  his  brother  ?  He  did  not  seem 
to  think  it  worth  while  to  say  anything  to  explain 
so  eloquent  a  glance,  but  immediately  faced  about 
again,  as  if  dismissing  the  interruption  from  his 
mind.  Mrs.  Kilgore  did  not  try  to  make  any  more 
conversation,  but  went  to  her  bedroom  and  cried 
herself  to  sleep. 

But  Silas  sat  in  his  chair  in  the  parlor,  and  took 
no  note  of  the  hours  till  the  lamp  spluttered  and 
went  out.  All  through  the  evening,  in  Joseph's 
room,  which  was  directly  above,  he  had  heard 
him  walking  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro,  sitting  down 
awhile,  and  then  starting  again ;  and  if  the  pac 
ing  had  not  finally  come  to  an  end,  Silas  could  not 
have  gone  to  bed,  for  his  heart  went  out  to  his 
brother  wrestling  there  alone  with  his  dreadful 
secret,  and  he  could  not  rest  till  he  thought  that 
he,  too,  was  at  rest. 

Indeed,  for  the  very  reason  that  Joseph  was  so 
dear  to  him,  and  he  felt  nothing  could  change  that, 
he  actually  hesitated  the  less  to  admit  these  horri 
ble  suspicions.  Love  is  impatient  of  uncertainty, 


TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT     123 

and  would  rather  presume  the  guilt  of  a  friend 
from  its  longing  to  pour  itself  out  in  pity  and  ten 
derness,  than  restrain  itself  while  judgment  scru 
tinizes  evidence  and  decides  by  a  straw's  weight. 

A  practical  reflection,  moreover,  had  occurred  to 
Silas. 

If  Joseph  had  really  —  he  did  not  dare  to  say  to 
himself  what  —  then  it  was  of  the  utmost  impor 
tance  that  they  should  quickly  understand  each 
other,  so  as  to  take  steps  to  place  him  in  safety. 
His  desire  to  share  Joseph's  horrible  secret  was 
like  the  feeling  with  which  one  would  fain  uncover 
a  friend's  loathsome  disease  in  order  to  help  him. 
Before  he  went  to  sleep  that  night  he  resolved, 
therefore,  that  he  would  win  his  confidence  by  let 
ting  him  see  in  every  possible  way,  short  of  actual 
words,  that  he  suspected  the  true  state  of  things, 
and  that  Joseph  might  still  confide  in  him  as  a 
faithful  brother  who  would  stand  by  him  in  the 
worst  emergency. 

On  first  meeting  him  the  following  morning 
he  began  to  carry  out  this  project  so  worthy  of 
fraternal  devotion.  He  sought  occasion  to  shake 
hands  with  Joseph,  and  gave  a  meaning  pressure  to 
his  clasp.  At  breakfast  he  was  the  only  one  who 
talked,  and  endeavored  by  his  manner  to  let  Jo 
seph  understand  that  he  perfectly  comprehended 
the  situation,  and  was  talking  to  cover  his  embar 
rassment  and  prevent  Mrs.  Kilgore  from  suspecting 
anything.  Several  times  also  he  managed  to  catch 


124     TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT 

his  brother's  eye,  and  give  him  a  glance  implying 
sympathy  and  mutual  understanding.  This  de 
meanor  added  the  last  touch  to  Joseph's  exaspera 
tion. 

Evading  Silas's  evident  intention  of  walking 
down-street,  he  got  away  alone,  and  took  both  din 
ner  and  tea  at  a  restaurant,  to  put  off  meeting  his 
brother  and  sister-in-law  as  long  as  possible.  He 
lingered  long  over  his  tea  in  the  darkest,  loneliest 
corner  of  the  eating-house,  for  the  prospect,  no 
longer  to  be  avoided,  of  returning  home  to  con 
front  his  sister-in-law's  frightened  face  and  Silas's 
pathetic  glances  appeared  intolerable.  Wild  ideas 
of  flying  from  the  city  and  returning  never,  or  not 
until  the  truth  about  the  murder  had  come  to  light, 
occurred  to  him.  He  even  began  to  arrange  what 
sort  of  a  letter  he  should  write  to  Silas.  But  men 
of  forty,  especially  of  Joseph's  temperament,  who 
have  moved  in  the  same  business  and  domestic  ruts 
all  their  lives,  do  not  readily  make  up  their  minds 
to  bold  steps  of  this  sort.  To  endure  suffering  or 
inconvenience  is  more  natural  than  to  change  their 
settled  habits.  So  it  all  ended  in  his  going  home 
at  about  eight  o'clock,  and  being  greatly  relieved 
to  find  some  callers  there. 

All  three  of  this  strangely  stricken  family,  in 
deed,  shared  that  feeling.  It  was  such  a  rest  from 
the  nervous  strain  whenever  either  or  both  were 
left  alone  with  Joseph !  The  earnestness  with 
which  Mrs.  Kilgore  pressed  her  guests  to  stay  a 


TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT     125 

little  longer  was  so  unusual  and  apparently  uncalled 
for  that  I  fancy  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith  had  a  vague 
suspicion  that  they  were  being  made  game  of. 
But  they  would  have  been  disabused  of  that  im 
pression  could  they  have  appreciated  the  sinking 
of  heart  with  which  their  hosts  heard  the  front 
door  close,  and  realized  that  they  were  again  left  to 
themselves.  Only  one  thing  had  occurred  to  mar 
the  relief  which  the  call  had  afforded.  The  topic 
of  the  murder  had  been  exhausted  before  Joseph 
entered,  but,  just  as  she  was  leaving,  Mrs.  Smith 
made  a  return  to  it,  saying  :  — 

"  Mrs.  Kilgore,  I  was  telling  my  husband  I 
should  think  you  must  be  scared  to  be  in  the  house, 
for  fear  the  murderer  might  still  be  .  hanging 
around." 

Mrs.  Kilgore  shuddered,  and  cast  an  instanta 
neous,  wholly  involuntary  glance  at  Joseph.  Her 
husband  intercepted  it,  and,  catching  his  eye,  she 
saw  an  expression  in  it  as  if  he  could  strangle  her 
for  what  was  really  only  the  fault  of  her  nerves. 
She  stammered  something,  and  the  bustle  of  the 
retiring  guests  covered  her  confusion  well  enough. 

Unfortunately,  Joseph,  too,  had  caught  that  sud 
den,  terrified  glance  of  his  sister-in-law's  at  him, 
and  it  affected  him  more  than  anything  that  had 
occurred  in  either  of  the  two  days  since  the  murder. 
As  the  guests  took  their  leave,  his  head  dropped 
on  his  breast,  and  his  arms  fell  by  the  sides  of 
his  chair.  Mr.  Kilgore  wanted  to  send  his  wife 


126     TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT 

from  the  room,  but  his  voice  stuck  in  his  throat, 
his  tongue  refused  to  move.  They  waited  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  Joseph  said  :  — 

"  Send  for  the  police  !  For  God's  sake,  take  me 
out  of  this  !  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer !  " 

It  was  not  yet  nine  o'clock,  and  a  boy  came  by 
in  the  street  crying :  — 

"  Extra !  The  Kilgore  barn  murderer  captured  ! 
Full  confession !  " 

Although  the  words  were  perfectly  audible 
through  the  lowered  windows  to  all  in  the  room, 
Mrs.  Kilgore  was  the  only  one  who  took  any  men 
tal  cognizance  of  them.  Nor  did  either  of  the  men, 
who  sat  there  like  stones,  take  note  of  her  as  she 
left  the  room.  A  minute  later  they  heard  her 
scream,  and  she  ran  back  with  the  open  paper  in 
her  hands. 

"  He  did  not  do  it !  He  is  crazy !  They  have 
found  the  murderer !  " 

Silas  fixed  an  incredulous,  questioning  stare 
upon  his  wife,  and  then  turned  quickly  toward  his 
brother.  As  for  Joseph,  at  first  and  for  several 
moments,  he  gave  no  sign  that  he  had  heard  at  all. 
Then  he  slowly  raised  his  eyes  to  his  brother's  face 
with  a  deliberate,  cruel  gaze  of  contemptuous  sar 
casm  and  cold  aversion.  The  first  effect  of  this 
great  relief  was  to  flood  his  mind  with  bitter  wrath 
at  those  who  had  done  him  the  great  wrong  from 
which,  no  thanks  to  them,  he  had  been  rescued. 

Mrs.  Kilgore  hastily  read  aloud,  in  a  breathless 


TWO  DAYS'   SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT     127 

voice,  the  newspaper  account.  It  seemed  that  two 
tramps  had  taken  refuge  in  the  barn  from  the 
storm  that  had  raged  the  night  of  the  murder,  and 
getting  into  some  quarrel  before  morning,  one 
had  stabbed  the  other  and  fled,  only  to  be  captured 
two  days  later  and  confess  everything.  When  Mrs. 
Kilgore  ceased  reading,  Joseph  said :  — 

"  It  must  be  a  great  disappointment  for  you  that 
they  are  not  going  to  hang  me  for  it.  I  sincerely 
condole  with  you." 

Mrs.  Kilgore  cried,  "Oh,  don't!"  and  Silas 
made  a  gesture  of  deprecation,  but  both  felt  that 
Joseph  had  a  right  to  revile  them  as  he  chose,  and 
they  had  no  right  to  complain.  But  he,  even  while 
he  could  not  deny  himself  the  gratification  of  a 
little  cruel  reproach,  knew  that  they  were  not  to  be 
blamed,  that  they  had  been  as  much  the  victims  of 
a  fatality  as  himself,  and  that  this  was  one  of  those 
peculiarly  exasperating  wrongs  which  do  not  leave 
the  sufferer  even  the  satisfaction  of  being  angry. 
Soon  he  got  up  and  walked  across  the  room, 
stretched  himself,  drew  his  hand  over  his  forehead, 
and  said :  — 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  just  been  dug  up  after  being 
buried  alive." 

At  this  sign  of  returning  equanimity,  Silas  took 
courage  and  ventured  to  say  :  — 

"  I  know  we  've  been  a  pair  of  crazy  fools,  Joe,  but 
you  're  a  little  to  blame.  What 's  made  you  act  so 
queerly  ?  You  won't  deny  that  you  have  acted  so  ?  " 


128     TWO  DAYS'    SOLITARY  IMPRISONMENT 

Joseph  smiled,  —  one  does  n't  appreciate  the  pure 
luxury  of  a  smile  until  he  has  been  deprived  of  it 
for  a  while,  —  lit  a  cigar,  sat  down  with  his  legs 
over  the  arm  of  his  arm-chair,  —  he  had  not  indulged 
in  an  unconstrained  posture  for  two  days,  —  and 
told  his  side  of  the  story.  He  explained  how, 
thanks  to  that  tale  he  was  reading,  and  the  ghastly 
reverie  it  suggested,  his  nerves  were  all  on  edge 
when  Mrs.  Kilgore  burst  in  with  a  piece  of  news 
whose  extraordinary  coincidence  with  his  train  of 
thought  had  momentarily  thrown  him  off  his  bal 
ance  ;  and  he  tried  to  make  them  see  that,  after 
that  first  scene,  all  the  rest  was  a  logical  sequence. 

Mrs.  Kilgore,  by  virtue  of  her  finer  feminine  ner 
vous  organization,  understood  him  so  readily  that 
he  saw  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  not  unbosoming 

O 

himself  to  her  at  first.  But  Silas  evidently  did  not 
so  easily  take  his  idea. 

"  But  why  did  n't  you  just  tell  us  that  you  had  n't 
done  it,  and  end  the  misunderstanding  at  one 
blow?"  he  asked. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,"  replied  Joseph,  "  that  to 
deny  a  thing  before  you  are  distinctly  suspected  of 
it  is  to  suggest  suspicion ;  while  to  deny  it  after 
ward,  unless  you  have  proof  to  offer,  is  useless?  " 

"  What  should  we  have  come  to  but  for  the  cap 
ture  of  the  real  murderer  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Kilgore, 
with  a  shudder. 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

IT  is  a  village  street,  with  great  elms  on  either 
side,  while  along  the  middle  stands  another  row 
set  in  a  narrow  strip  of  grassy  common,  so  that  the 
street  and  roadway  are  in  reality  double.  The 
dwellings  on  either  side  are  not  only  widely  parted 
by  the  broad  street,  but  are  still  further  isolated, 
each  in  its  large  garden  of  ancient  fruit  trees.  It 
is  four  o'clock  of  a  sunny  August  afternoon,  and 
a  quiet,  Sabbath-like  but  for  its  lazy  voluptuous 
ness,  broods  over  the  scene.  No  carriage,  or  even 
pedestrian,  has  passed  for  an  hour.  The  occa 
sional  voices  of  children  at  play  in  some  garden, 
the  latching  of  a  gate  far  down  the  street,  the  dy 
ing  fall  of  a  drowsy  chanticleer,  are  but  the  punc 
tuation  of  the  poem  of  summer  silence  that  has 
been  flowing  on  all  the  afternoon.  Upon  the  tree- 
tops  the  sun  blazes  brightly,  and  between  their 
stems  are  glimpses  of  outlying  meadows,  which 
simmer  in  the  heat  as  if  about  to  come  to  a  boil. 
But  the  shadowed  street  offers  a  cool  and  refresh 
ing  vista  to  the  eye,  and  a  veritable  valley  of  refuge 
to  the  parched  and  dusty  traveler  along  the  high 
way. 

On  the  broad  piazza  of  one  of  the  quaint  old- 


130  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

fashioned  houses,  behind  a  needless  screen  of 
climbing  woodbine,  two  girls  are  whiling  away  the 
afternoon.  One  of  them  is  lounging  in  a  lazy 
rocking-chair,  while  the  other  sits  more  primly  and 
is  industriously  sewing. 

"  I  suppose  you  '11  be  glad  enough  to  see  George 
when  he  comes  to-night  to  take  you  back  to  the 
city  ?  I  'm  afraid  you  find  it  pretty  dull  here," 
said  the  latter,  with  an  intonation  of  uneasy  respon 
sibility  sufficiently  attesting  that  the  brilliant-look 
ing  girl  opposite  was  a  guest. 

That  young  lady,  when  addressed,  was  indulging 
in  a  luxurious  country  yawn,  an  operation  by  no 
means  to  be  hurried,  but  to  be  fully  and  lazily 
enjoyed  in  all  its  several  and  long-drawn  stages, 
and  as  thus  practiced  a  wonderfully  calming  and 
soporific  relaxation  wholly  unknown  to  the  fretted 
denizens  of  cities,  whose  yawn  is  one  of  irritation 
and  not  of  rest.  "I  do  so  enjoy  your  Plain  field 
yawns,  Lucy,"  she  said  when  she  had  quite  fin 
ished.  "  Were  you  saying  that  it  was  a  little 
dull  ?  Well,  perhaps  it  is,  but  then  the  trees  and 
things  seem  to  be  enjoying  themselves  so  hugely 
that  it  would  be  selfish  to  make  a  fuss,  even  if  it 
is  n't  exactly  my  kind  of  fun." 

"  Your  kind  of  fun  is  due  by  the  six-o'clock 
stage,  I  believe." 

The  other  laughed  and  said,  "I  wish  you 
would  n't  make  another  allusion  to  George.  I 
think  of  him  so  much  that  I  'm  ashamed,  as  it  is. 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  131 

I  'm  sure  this  is  a  very  aggravating  place  for  an 
engaged  girl  to  be  at.  One  gets  so  dreadfully 
sentimental  with  nothing  to  take  up  the  mind, 
especially  with  such  monstrous  moons  as  you  have. 
I  got  fairly  frightened  of  the  one  last  night.  It 
drew  me  out  through  my  eyes  like  a  big  plaster." 

"Mabel  French!  " 

"  I  don't  care ;  it  did.  That  was  just  the 
feeling." 

There  was  no  hurry  about  talking,  for  the  rich, 
mellow  summer  silence  had  a  body  to  it  that  pre 
vented  pauses  from  seeming  empty,  and  it  might 
have  been  half  an  hour  afterward  that  Mabel 
suddenly  leaned  forward,  putting  her  face  close 
to  the  vine  -  trellis,  and  cried  in  a  low  voice, 
"  Who  's  that  ?  Do  tell  me !  They  're  the  very 
first  persons  who  have  gone  by  this  afternoon,  I 
do  believe." 

A  pretty  phaeton  was  slowly  passing,  containing 
an  elderly  gentleman  and  lady. 

"  Oh,  that  is  only  Lawyer  Morgan  and  old  Miss 
Rood,"  replied  Lucy,  just  glancing  up,  and  then 
down  again.  "  They  go  out  driving  once  a  week 
regularly,  and  always  at  about  this  time  in  the 
afternoon." 

"  They  look  like  afternoon  sort  of  people,"  said 
Mabel.  "  But  why  does  n't  Lawyer  Morgan  take 
out  his  wife  ?  " 

"  He  has  n't  got  any.  Miss  Rood  comes  nearest 
to  that.  Oh,  no,  you  need  n't  open  your  eyes ; 


132  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

there  's  not  a  properer  old  maid  in  town,  or  old 
bachelor  either,  for  that  matter." 

"Are  they  relatives  ?" 

"  No,  indeed." 

"  How  long  has  this  Platonic  romance  been 
going  on,  pray?  " 

"  Oh,  ever  since  they  were  young,  —  forty  years, 
perhaps.  I  only  know  by  tradition,  you  see.  It 
began  ages  before  my  day.  They  say  she  was 
very  pretty  once.  Old  Aunty  Perkins  remembers 
that  she  was  quite  the  belle  of  the  village  as  a 
girl.  It  seems  strange,  does  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  the  whole  story,"  said  Mabel,  turning 
round  so  as  to  face  Lucy  as  the  phaeton  passed  out 
of  sight. 

"There's  not  much  to  tell.  Mr.  Morgan  has 
always  lived  here,  and  so  has  Miss  Rood.  He  lives 
alone  with  a  housekeeper  in  that  fine  house  at  the 
end  of  the  street,  and  she  entirely  alone  in  that 
little  white  house  over  there  among  the  apple-trees. 
All  the  people  who  knew  them  when  they  were 
young  are  dead,  gone  away,  or  moved  off.  They 
are  relics  of  a  past  generation,  and  are  really  about 
as  much  shut  up  to  each  other  for  sympathy  as  an 
old  married  couple." 

"  Well,  why  on  earth  are  n't  they  married  ?  " 

44  People  hereabouts  got  tired  of  asking  that  full 
thirty  years  ago,"  replied  Lucy,  with  a  little  shrug. 
"  Even  the  gossips  long  since  wore  out  the  subject, 
and  I  believe  we  have  all  of  us  forgotten  that 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  133 

there  is  anything  peculiar  about  their  relations. 
He  calls  on  her  two  or  three  times  a  week,  and 
takes  her  out  driving  on  pleasant  days  ;  escorts  her 
to  places  of  amusement  or  social  gatherings  when 
either  of  them  cares  to  go,  which  is  n't  often ;  and 
wherever  they  are,  people  take  it  for  granted  they 
will  pair  off  together.  He  is  never  seen  with  any 
other  lady." 

"  It 's  very  strange,"  said  Mabel  thoughtfully, 
"  and  I  'm  sure  it 's  very  romantic.  Queer  old 
couple!  I  wonder  how  they  really  feel  toward 
each  other,  and  whether  they  would  n't  like  to  be 
married  ?  " 

Awhile  after  she  suddenly  demanded,  "Don't 
you  think  Miss  Rood  looks  like  me  ?  " 

Lucy  laughed  at  first,  but  upon  closer  inspection 
of  the  fair  questioner  admitted  that  there  might 
be  some  such  resemblance  as  the  shriveled  apples 
brought  up  from  the  cellar  in  spring  bear  to  the 
plump,  rosy-cheeked  beauties  that  went  down  in 
October. 

If  Mr.  Morgan  and  Miss  Rood,  as  they  rode 
past,  had  chanced  to  overhear  Mabel's  question 
why  they  had  not  married,  it  would  have  affected 
them  very  differently.  He  would  have  been 
startled  by  the  novelty  of  an  idea  that  had  not 
occurred  to  him  in  twenty  years,  but  the  blush  on 
her  cheek  would  have  been  one  of  painful  con 
sciousness. 

As   boy  and   girl   they  had   been  each   other's 


134  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

chosen  companion,  and  as  young  man  and  maiden 
their  childish  preference  had  bloomed  into  a  recip 
rocal  love.  Thanks  to  the  freedom  and  simplicity 
of  village  life,  they  enjoyed  as  lovers  a  constant 
and  easy  familiarity  and  daily  association  almost  as 
complete  in  sympathy  of  mind  and  heart  as  any 
thing  marriage  could  offer.  There  were  none  of 
the  usual  obstacles  to  incite  them  to  matrimony. 
They  were  never  even  formally  engaged,  so  wholly 
did  they  take  it  for  granted  that  they  should 
marry.  It  was  so  much  a  matter  of  course  that 
there  was  no  hurry  at  all  about  it ;  and  besides,  so 
long  as  they  had  it  to  look  forward  to,  the  fore 
ground  of  life  was  illuminated  for  them :  it  was 
still  morning.  Mr.  Morgan  was  constitutionally 
of  a  dreamy  and  unpractical  turn,  a  creature  of 
habits  and  a  victim  of  ruts ;  and  as  years  rolled 
on  he  became  more  and  more  satisfied  with  these 
half -friendly,  half-loverlike  relations.  He  never 
found  the  time  when  it  seemed  an  object  to  marry, 
and  now,  for  very  many  years,  the  idea  had  not 
even  occurred  to  him  as  possible ;  and  so  far  was 
he  from  the  least  suspicion  that  Miss  Rood's  ex 
perience  had  not  been  precisely  similar  to  his  own, 
that  he  often  congratulated  himself  on  the  fortu 
nate  coincidence. 

Time  cures  much,  and  many  years  ago  Miss 
Rood  had  recovered  from  the  first  bitterness  of 
discovering  that  his  love  had  become  insensibly 
transformed  into  a  very  tender  but  perfectly  peace- 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  135 

ful  friendship.  No  one  but  him  had  ever  touched 
her  heart,  and  she  had  no  interest  in  life  besides 
him.  Since  she  was  not  to  be  his  wife,  she  was 
glad  to  be  his  lifelong,  tender,  self-sacrificing 
friend.  So  she  raked  the  ashes  over  the  fire  in 
her  heart,  and  left  him  to  suppose  that  it  had  gone 
out  as  in  his.  Nor  was  she  without  compensation 
in  their  friendship.  It  was  with  a  delightful  thrill 
that  she  felt  how  fully  in  mind  and  heart  he  leaned 
and  depended  upon  her,  and  the  unusual  and  ro 
mantic  character  of  their  relations  in  some  degree 
consoled  her  for  the  disappointment  of  womanly 
aspirations  by  a  feeling  of  distinction.  She  was 
not  like  other  women :  her  lot  was  set  apart  and 
peculiar.  She  looked  down  upon  her  sex.  The 
conventionality  of  women's  lives  renders  their 
vanity  peculiarly  susceptible  to  a  suggestion  that 
their  destiny  is  in  any  respect  unique,  —  a  fact  that 
has  served  the  turn  of  many  a  seducer  before  now. 
To-day,  after  returning  from  his  drive  with  Miss 
Rood,  Mr.  Morgan  had  walked  in  his  garden,  and 
as  the  evening  breeze  arose,  it  bore  to  his  nostrils 
that  first  indescribable  flavor  of  autumn  which 
warns  us  that  the  soul  of  Summer  has  departed 
from  her  yet  glowing  body.  He  was  very  sensitive 
to  these  changes  of  the  year,  and,  obeying  an  im 
pulse  that  had  been  familiar  to  him  in  all  unusual 
moods  his  life  long,  he  left  the  house  after  tea  and 
turned  his  steps  down  the  street.  As  he  stopped 
at  Miss  Rood's  gate,  Lucy,  Mabel,  and  George 


136  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

Hammond  were  under  the  apple-trees  in  the  gar 
den  opposite. 

"  Look,  Mabel !  There  's  Mr.  Morgan  going  to 
call  on  Miss  Rood,"  said  Lucy  softly. 

"  Oh,  do  look,  George !  "  said  Mabel  eagerly. 
"  That  old  gentleman  has  been  paying  court  to  an 
old  maid  over  in  that  little  house  for  forty  years. 
And  to  think,"  she  added  in  a  lower  tone,  in 
tended  for  his  private  ear,  "  what  a  fuss  you  make 
about  waiting  six  months  !  " 

"  Humph  !  You  please  to  forget  that  it 's  easier 
to  wait  for  some  things  than  for  others.  Six 
months  of  my  kind  of  waiting,  I  take  it,  require 
more  patience  than  forty  years  of  his  —  or  any 
other  man's,"  he  added,  with  increased  emphasis. 

"  Be  quiet,  sir  !  "  replied  Mabel,  answering  his 
look  of  unruly  admiration  with  one  of  half  pique. 
"I  'm  not  a  sugar-plum,  that 's  not  enjoyed  till  it 's 
in  the  mouth.  If  you  have  n't  got  me  now,  you  '11 
never  have  me.  If  being  engaged  isn't  enough, 
you  don't  deserve  to  be  married."  And  then,  see 
ing  the  blank  expression  with  which  he  looked 
down  at  her,  she  added  with  a  prescient  resigned- 
ness,  "  I  'in  afraid,  dear,  you  '11  be  so  disappointed 
when  we  're  married,  if  you  find  this  so  tedious." 

Lucy  had  discreetly  wandered  away,  and  of  how 
they  made  it  up  there  were  no  witnesses.  But  it 
seems  likely  that  they  did  so,  for  shortly  after 
they  wandered  away  together  down  the  darkening 
street. 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  137 

Like  most  of  the  Plainfield  houses,  that  at  which 
Mr.  Morgan  turned  in  stood  well  back  from  the 
street.  At  a  side  window,  still  further  sheltered 
from  view  by  a  syriiiga-bush  at  the  house  corner, 
sat  a  little  woman  with  a  small,  pale  face,  the  still 
attractive  features  perceptibly  sharpened  by  years, 
of  which  the  half-gray  hair  bore  further  testimony. 
The  eyes,  just  now  fixed  absently  upon  the  dusk 
ing  landscape,  were  light  gray  and  a  little  faded, 
while  around  the  lips  there  were  crow's-feet,  espe* 
cially  when  they  were  pressed  together,  as  now, 
in  an  unsatisfied,  almost  pathetic  look,  evidently 
habitual  to  her  face  when  in  repose.  There  was 
withal  something  in  her  features  that  so  reminded 
you  of  Mr.  Morgan  that  any  one  conversant  with 
the  facts  of  his  life-romance  would  have  at  once 
inferred  —  though  by  just  what  logic  he  might  not 
be  able  to  explain  —  that  this  must  be  Miss  Rood. 
It  is  well  known  that  long-wedded  couples  often 
gain  at  length  a  certain  resemblance  in  feature  and 
manner ;  and  although  these  two  were  not  mar 
ried,  yet  their  intimacy  of  a  lifetime  was  perhaps 
the  reason  why  her  face  bore  when  in  repose  some 
thing  of  that  seer-like  expression  which  commun 
ion  with  the  bodiless  shapes  of  memory  had  given 
to  his. 

The  latching  of  the  gate  broke  up  her  depressing 
reverie,  and  banished  the  pinched  and  pining  look 
from  her  features.  Among  the  neighbors  Miss 
Rood  was  sometimes  called  a  sour  old  maid,  but 


138  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

the  face  she  kept  for  Mr.  Morgan  would  never 
have  suggested  that  idea  to  the  most  ill-natured 
critic. 

He  stopped  at  the  window,  near  which  the  walk 
passed  to  the  doorway,  and  stood  leaning  on  the 
sill,  —  a  tall,  slender  figure,  stooping  a  little,  with 
smooth,  scholarly  face,  and  thin  iron-gray  hair.  His 
only  noticeable  feature  was  a  pair  of  eyes  whose 
expression  and  glow  indicated  an  imaginative  tem 
perament.  It  was  pleasant  to  observe  the  relieved 
restlessness  in  the  look  and  manner  of  the  two 
friends,  as  if  at  the  mere  being  in  each  other's 
presence,  though  neither  seemed  in  any  haste  to 
exchange  even  the  words  of  formal  greeting. 

At  length  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  quiet  satisfac 
tion,  "  I  knew  you  would  come,  for  I  was  sure  this 
deathly  autumn's  flavor  would  make  you  restless. 
Is  n't  it  strange  how  it  affects  the  nerves  of  mem 
ory,  and  makes  one  sad  with  thinking  of  all  the 
sweet,  dear  days  that  are  dead  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  answered  eagerly  ;  "  I  can  think 
of  nothing  else.  Do  they  not  seem  wonderfully 
clear  and  near  to-night?  To-night,  of  all  nights 
in  the  year,  if  the  figures  and  scenes  of  memory 
can  be  reembodied  in  visible  forms,  they  ought  to 
become  so  to  the  eyes  that  strain  and  yearn  for 
them." 

"  What  a  fanciful  idea,  Kobert !  " 

u  I  don't  know  that  it  is  ;  I  don't  feel  sure.  No 
body  understands  the  mystery  of  this  Past,  or  what 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  139 

are  the  conditions  of  existence  in  that  world.  These 
memories,  these  forms  and  faces,  that  are  so  near, 
so  almost  warm  and  visible  that  we  find  ourselves 
smiling  on  the  vacant  air  where  they  seem  to  be, 
are  they  not  real  and  living?  " 

"  You  don't  mean  you  believe  in  ghosts  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  talking  of  ghosts  of  the  dead,  but  of 
ghosts  of  the  past,  —  memories  of  scenes  or  per 
sons,  whether  the  persons  are  dead  or  not  —  of  our 
own  selves  as  well  as  others.  Why,"  he  continued, 
his  voice  softening  into  a  passionate,  yearning  ten 
derness,  "  the  figure  I  would  give  most  to  see  just 
once  more  is  yourself  as  a  girl,  as  I  remember  you 
in  the  sweet  grace  and  beauty  of  your  maidenhood. 
Ah,  well!  ah,  well!" 

"  Don't !  "  she  cried  involuntarily,  while  her  fea 
tures  contracted  in  sudden  pain. 

In  the  years  during  which  his  passion  for  her 
had  been  cooling  into  a  staid  friendship,  his  imagi 
nation  had  been  recurring  with  constantly  increas 
ing  fondness  and  a  dreamy  passion  to  the  memory 
of  her  girlhood.  And  the  cruelest  part  of  it  was 
that  he  so  unconsciously  and  unquestioningly  as 
sumed  that  she  could  not  have  identity  enough 
with  that  girlish  ideal  to  make  his  frequent  glow 
ing  references  to  it  even  embarrassing.  Generally, 
however,  she  heard  and  made  no  sign,  but  the  sud 
denness  of  his  outburst  just  now  had  taken  her  off 
her  guard. 

He  glanced  up  with  some  surprise  at  her  ex- 


140  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

clamation,  but  was  too  much  interested  in  his  sub 
ject  to  take  much  notice  of  it.  "  You  know,"  he 
said,  "  there  are  great  differences  in  the  distinct 
ness  with  which  we  can  bring  up  our  memories. 
Very  well!  The  only  question  is,  What  is  the 
limit  to  that  distinctness,  or  is  there  any  ?  Since 
we  know  there  are  such  wide  degrees  in  distinct 
ness,  the  burden  of  proof  rests  on  those  who  would 
prove  that  those  degrees  stop  short  of  any  particu 
lar  point.  Don't  you  see,  then,  that  it  might  be 
possible  to  see  them  ?  "  And  to  enforce  his  mean 
ing  he  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  hers  as  it  rested  on 
the  window-seat. 

She  withdrew  it  instantly  from  the  contact,  and 
a  slight  flush  tinged  her  sallow  cheeks.  The  only 
outward  trace  of  her  memory  of  their  youthful 
relations  was  the  almost  prudish  chariness  of  her 
person  by  which  she  indicated  a  sense  of  the  line 
to  be  drawn  between  the  former  lover  and  the  pre 
sent  friend. 

"  Something  in  your  look  just  now,"  he  said,  re 
garding  her  musingly,  as  one  who  seeks  to  trace 
the  lineaments  of  a  dead  face  in  a  living  one, 
"  reminds  me  of  you  as  you  used  to  sit  in  this  very 
window  as  a  girl,  and  I  stood  just  here,  and  we 
picked  out  stars  together.  There  !  now  it 's  gone  ; " 
and  he  turned  away  regretfully. 

She  looked  at  his  averted  face  with  a  blank  pite- 
ousness  which  revealed  all  her  secret.  She  would 
not  have  had  him  see  it  for  worlds,  but  it  was  a 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  141 

relief  just  for  a  moment  to  rest  her  features  in  the 
sad  cast  which  the  muscles  had  grown  tired  in 
repressing.  The  autumn  scent  rose  stronger  as 
the  air  grew  damp,  and  he  stood  breathing  it  in, 
and  apparently  feeling  its  influence  like  some  Del 
phian  afflatus. 

"  Is  there  anything,  Mary,  —  is  there  anything 
so  beautiful  as  that  light  of  eternity  that  rests  on 
the  figures  of  memory?  Who  that  has  once  felt 
it  can  care  for  the  common  daylight  of  the  present 
any  more,  or  take  pleasure  in  its  prosaic  groups  ?  " 

"You'll  certainly  catch  cold  standing  in  that 
wet  grass ;  do  come  in  and  let  tiie  shut  the  blinds," 
she  said,  for  she  had  found  cheerful  lamplight  the 
best  corrective  for  his  vagaries. 

So  he  came  in  and  sat  in  his  special  arm-chair, 
and  they  chatted  about  miscellaneous  village  topics 
for  an  hour.    The  standpoint  from  which  they  can 
vassed  Plainfield  people  and  things  was  a  pecul 
iarly  outside  one.     Their  circle  of   two  was  like 
a  separate  planet  from  which  they  observed  the 
world.     Their  tone  was  like,  and  yet  quite  unlike, 
that  in  which  a  long-married  couple  discuss  their 
acquaintances ;   for,  while   their   intellectual   inti-   ' 
macy  was  perfect,  their  air  expressed  a  constant    ; 
mutual  deference  and  solicitude  of  approbation  not    : 
to  be  confounded  with  the  terrible  familiarity  of 
matrimony ;  and  at  the  same  time  they  constituted 
a  self-sufficient  circle,  apart  from  the  society  around 
them,  as  man  and  wife  cannot.     Man  and  wife  are 


142  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

'  so  far  merged  as  to  feel  themselves  a  unit  over 
against  society.  They  are  too  much  identified  to 
find  in  each  other  that  sense  of  support  and  coun 
tenance  which  requires  a  feeling  of  the  exteriority 
of  our  friend's  life  to  our  own.  If  these  two  should 
marry,  they  would  shortly  find  themselves  impelled 
to  seek  refuge  in  conventional  relations  with  that 
society  of  which  now  they  were  calmly  independ 
ent. 

At  length  Mr.  Morgan  rose  and  threw  open  the 
blinds.  The  radiance  of  the  full  harvest-moon  so 
flooded  the  room  that  Miss  Rood  was  fain  to  blow 
out  the  poor  lamp  for  compassion.  "  Let  us  take 
a  walk,"  he  said. 

The  streets  were  empty  and  still,  and  they  walked 
in  silence,  spelled  by  the  perfect  beauty  of  the 
evening.  The  dense  shadows  of  the  elms  lent  a 
peculiarly  rich  effect  to  the  occasional  bars  and 
patches  of  moonlight  on  the  street  floor  ;  the  white 
houses  gleamed  among  their  orchards  ;  and  here 
and  there,  between  the  dark  tree-stems,  there  were 
glimpses  of  the  shining  surface  of  the  broad  out 
lying  meadows,  which  looked  like  a  surrounding 
sea. 

Miss  Rood  was  startled  to  see  how  the  witchery 
of  the  scene  possessed  her  companion.  His  face 
took  on  a  set,  half-smiling  expression,  and  he 
dropped  her  arm  as  if  they  had  arrived  at  the 
place  of  entertainment  to  which  he  had  been  es 
corting  her.  He  no  longer  walked  with  measured 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  143 

pace,  but  glided  along  with  a  certain  stealthiness, 
peering  on  this  side  and  that  down  moony  vistas 
and  into  shadow-bowers,  as  if  half-expecting,  if  he 
might  step  lightly  enough,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
some  sort  of  dream-people  basking  there. 

Nor  could  Miss  Eood  herself  resist  the  impres 
sion  the  moony  landscape  gave  of  teeming  with 
subtle  forms  of  life,  escaping  the  grosser  senses  of 
human  beings,  but  perceptible  by  their  finer  parts. 
Each  cosy  nook  of  light  and  shadow  was  yet  warm 
from  some  presence  that  had  just  left  it.  The 
landscape  fairly  stirred  with  ethereal  forms  of 
being  beneath  the  fertilizing  moon-rays,  as  the 
earth-mould  wakes  into  physical  life  under  the 
sun's  heat.  The  yellow  moonlight  looked  warm 
as  spirits  might  count  warmth.  The  air  was  elec 
tric  with  the  thrill  of  circumambient  existence. 
There  was  the  sense  of  pressure,  of  a  throng.  It 
would  have  been  impossible  to  feel  lonely.  The 
pulsating  sounds  of  the  insect  world  seemed  the 
rhythm  to  which  the  voluptuous  beauty  of  the 
night  had  spontaneously  set  itself.  The  common 
air  of  day  had  been  transmuted  into  the  atmo 
sphere  of  reverie  and  Dreamland.  In  that  magic 
medium  the  distinction  between  imagination  and 
reality  fast  dissolved.  Even  Miss  Rood  was  con 
scious  of  a  delightful  excitement,  a  vague  expec 
tancy.  Mr.  Morgan,  she  saw,  was  moved  quite 
beyond  even  his  exaggerated  habit  of  imaginative 
excitement.  His  wet,  shining,  wide-opened  eyes 


144  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

and  ecstatic  expression  indicated  complete  aban 
donment  to  the  illusions  of  the  scene. 

They  had  seated  themselves,  as  the  concentra 
tion  of  the  brain  upon  imaginative  activity  made 
the  nerves  of  motion  sluggish,  upon  a  rude  bench 
formed  by  wedging  a  plank  between  two  elms  that 
stood  close  together.  They  were  within  the  shadow 
of  the  trees,  but  close  up  to  their  feet  rippled  a  lake 
of  moonlight.  The  landscape  shimmering  before 
them  had  been  the  theatre  of  their  fifty  years  of 
life.  Their  history  was  written  in  its  trees  and 
lawns  and  paths.  The  very  air  of  the  place  had 
acquired  for  them  a  dense,  warm,  sentient  feeling, 
to  which  that  of  all  other  places  was  thin  and  raw. 
It  had  become  tinctured  by  their  own  spiritual 
emanations,  by  the  thoughts,  looks,  words  and 
moods  of  which  it  had  so  long  received  the  impres 
sion.  It  had  become  such  vitalized  air,  surcharged 
with  sense  and  thought,  as  might  be  taken  to  make 
souls  for  men  out  of. 

Over  yonder,  upon  the  playground,  yet  lingered 
the  faint  violet  fragrance  of  their  childhood.  Be 
neath  that  elm  a  kiss  had  once  touched  the  air  with 
a  fire  that  still  warmed  their  cheeks  in  passing. 
Yonder  the  look  of  a  face  was  cut  on  the  viewless 
air  as  on  marble.  Surely,  death  does  but  touch  the 
living,  for  the  dead  ever  keep  their  power  over  us  ; 
it  is  only  we  who  lose  ours  over  them.  Each  vista 
of  leafy  arch  and  distant  meadow  framed  in  some 
scene  of  their  youth-time,  painted  in  the  imperish- 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  145 

able  hues  of  memory  that  borrow  from  time  an  ever 
richer  and  more  glowing  tint.  It  was  no  wonder 
that  to  these  two  old  people,  sitting  on  the  bench 
between  the  elms,  the  atmosphere  before  them, 
saturated  with  associations,  dense  with  memories, 
should  seem  fairly  quivering  into  material  forms, 
like  a  distant  mist  turning  to  rain. 

At  length  Miss  Rood  heard  her  companion  say, 
in  a  whisper  of  tremulous  exultation,  "  Do  you 
know,  Mary,  I  think  I  shall  see  them  very  soon." 

"  See  whom  ? "  she  asked,  frightened  at  his 
strange  tone. 

"  Why,  see  us,  of  course,  as  I  was  telling  you," 
he  whispered,  —  "  you  and  me  as  we  were  young,  — 
see  them  as  I  see  you  now.  Don't  you  remember 
it  was  just  along  here  that  we  used  to  walk  on 
spring  evenings  ?  We  walk  here  no  more,  but  they 
do  evermore,  beautiful,  beautiful  children.  I  come 
here  often  to  lie  in  wait  for  them.  I  can  feel  them 
now;  I  can  almost,  almost  see  them."  His  whisper 
became  scarcely  audible  and  the  words  dropped 
slowly.  "  I  know  the  sight  is  coming,  for  every 
day  they  grow  more  vivid.  It  can't  be  long  before 
I  quite  see  them.  It  may  come  at  any  moment." 

Miss  Rood  was  thoroughly  frightened  at  the 
intensity  of  his  excitement,  and  terribly  perplexed 
as  to  what  she  should  do. 

"  It  may  come  at  any  time  ;  I  can  almost  see 
them  now,"  he  murmured.  "  A — h !  look ! "  With 
parted  lips  and  unspeakably  intense  eyes,  as  if  his 


146  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

life  were  flowing  out  at  them,  he  was  staring  across 
the  moonlit  paths  before  them  to  the  point  where 
the  path  debouched  from  the  shadow. 

Following  his  eyes,  she  saw  what  for  a  moment 
made  her  head  swim  with  the  thought  that  she  too 
was  going  mad.  Just  issuing  from  the  shadows, 
as  if  in  answer  to  his  words,  were  a  young  man 
and  a  girl,  his  arm  upon  her  waist,  his  eyes  upon 
her  face.  At  the  first  glance  Miss  Rood  was  im 
pressed  with  a  resemblance  to  her  own  features  in 
those  of  the  girl,  which  her  excitement  exaggerated 
to  a  perfect  reproduction  of  them.  For  an  instant 
the  conviction  possessed  her  that  by  some  impossi 
ble,  indescribable,  inconceivable  miracle  she  was 
looking  upon  the  resurrected  figures  of  her  girlish 
self  and  her  lover. 

At  first  Mr.  Morgan  had  half  started  from  his 
seat,  and  was  between  rising  and  sitting.  Then  he 
rose  with  a  slow,  involuntary  movement,  while  his 
face  worked  terribly  between  bewilderment  and 
abandonment  to  illusion.  He  tottered  forward  a 
few  steps  to  the  edge  of  the  moonlight,  and  stood 
peering  at  the  approaching  couple  with  a  hand 
raised  to  shade  his  eyes  and  a  dazed,  unearthly 
smile  on  his  face.  The  girl  saw  him  first,  for  she 
had  been  gazing  demurely  before  her,  while  her 
lover  looked  only  at  her.  At  sight  of  the  gray- 
haired  man  suddenly  confronting  them  with  a  look 
of  bedlam,  she  shrieked  and  started  back  in  terror. 
Miss  Rood,  recalled  to  her  senses,  sprang  forward, 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  147 

and  catching  Mr.  Morgan's  arm  endeavored  with 
gentle  force  to  draw  him  away. 

But  it  was  too  late  for  that.  The  young  man, 
at  first  almost  as  much  startled  as  his  companion 
at  the  uncanny  apparition,  naturally  experienced 
a  revulsion  of  indignation  at  such  an  extraordinary 
interruption  to  his  tete-a-tete,  and  stepped  up  to 
Mr.  Morgan  as  if  about  to  inflict  summary  chas 
tisement.  But  perceiving  that  he  had  to  do  with 
an  elderly  man,  he  contented  himself  with  demand 
ing  in  a  decidedly  aggressive  tone  what  the  devil 
he  meant  by  such  a  performance. 

Mr.  Morgan  stared  at  him  without  seeing  him, 
and  evidently  did  not  take  in  the  words.  He  merely 
gasped  once  or  twice,  and  looked  as  if  he  had 
fainted  away  on  his  feet.  His  blank,  stunned  ex 
pression  showed  that  his  faculties  were  momentarily 
benumbed  by  the  shock.  Miss  Rood  felt  as  if  she 
should  die  for  the  pity  of  it  as  she  looked  at  his 
face,  and  her  heart  was  breaking  for  grief  as  she 
sought  to  mollify  the  young  man  with  some  inar 
ticulate  words  of  apology,  meanwhile  still  endeav 
oring  to  draw  Mr.  Morgan  away.  But  at  this 
moment  the  girl,  recovering  from  her  panic,  came 
up  to  the  group  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  young 
man's  arm,  as  if  to  check  and  silence  him.  It  was 
evident  that  she  saw  there  was  something  quite 
unusual  in  the  circumstances,  and  the  look  which 
she  bent  upon  Mr.  Morgan  was  one  of  sympathy 
and  considerate  interrogation.  But  Miss  Rood 


148  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

could  see  no  way  out  of  their  awkward  situation, 
which  grew  more  intolerable  every  moment  as  they 
thus  confronted  each  other.  It  was  finally  Mr. 
Morgan's  voice,  quite  firm,  but  with  an  indescriba 
ble  sadness  in  the  tones,  which  broke  the  silence  : 
"  Young  people,  I  owe  you  an  apology,  such  as  it 
is.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  the  past  is  growing  so 
heavy  that  it  sometimes  quite  overbalances  me. 
My  thoughts  have  been  busy  to-night  with  the  days 
of  my  youth,  and  the  spell  of  memory  has  been  so 
strong  that  I  have  not  been  quite  myself.  As  you 
came  into  view  I  actually  entertained  the  incredible 
idea  for  a  moment  that  somehow  I  saw  in  you  the 
materialized  memories  of  myself  and  another  as  we 
once  walked  this  same  path." 

The  young  man  bowed,  as  Mr.  Morgan  ended,  in 
a  manner  indicating  his  acceptance  of  the  apology, 
although  he  looked  both  amazed  and  amused.  But 
the  explanation  had  a  very  different  effect  upon  the 
girl  at  his  side.  As  she  listened,  her  eyes  had  filled 
with  tears,  and  her  face  had  taken  on  a  wonderfully 
tender,  pitiful  smile.  When  he  ended  speaking, 
she  impulsively  said,  "  I  'm  so  sorry  we  were  not 
what  you  thought  us !  Why  not  pretend  we  are, 
to-night  at  least?  We  can  pretend  it,  you  know. 
The  moonlight  makes  anything  possible  ;"  and  then 
glancing  at  Miss  Rood,  she  added,  as  if  almost 
frightened,  "  Why,  how  much  we  look  alike  !  I  'in 
not  sure  it  isn't  true,  anyway." 

This  was,  in  fact,  an  unusually  marked  example 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  149 

of  those  casual  resemblances  between  strangers 
which  are  sometimes  seen.  The  hair  of  the  one 
was  indeed  gray  and  that  of  the  other  dark,  but  the 
eyes  were  of  the  same  color  by  night,  and  the  fea 
tures,  except  for  the  greater  fullness  of  the  younger 
face,  were  cast  in  the  same  mould,  while  figure  and 
bearing  were  strikingly  similar,  although  daylight 
would  doubtless  have  revealed  diversities  enough 
that  moonlight  refused  to  disclose. 

The  two  women  looked  at  each  other  with  an 
expression  almost  of  suspicion  and  fear,  while  the 
young  man  observed,  "  Your  mistake  was  certainly 
excusable,  sir." 

"  It  will  be  the  easier  to  pretend,"  said  the  girl, 
as  with  a  half-serious,  half-sportive  imperiousness 
she  laid  her  hand  on  Mr.  Morgan's  arm.  "  And 
now  it  is  thirty  years  ago,  and  we  are  walking  to 
gether."  He  involuntarily  obeyed  the  slight  pres 
sure,  and  they  walked  slowly  away,  leaving  the 
other  .two,  after  an  embarrassed  pause,  to  follow 
them. 

For  some  time  they  walked  in  silence.  He  was 
deliberately  abandoning  himself  to  the  illusion,  sup 
ported  as  it  was  by  the  evidence  of  his  senses,  that 
he  was  wandering  in  some  of  the  mysterious  be- 
tween-worlds  which  he  had  so  often  dreamed  of, 
with  the  love  of  his  youth  in  her  youth-time  charm. 
Did  he  really  believe  it  to  be  so  ?  Belief  is  a  term 
quite  irrelevant  to  such  a  frame  as  his,  in  which 
the  reflective  and  analytical  powers  are  for  a  time 


150  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

purposely  held  in  abeyance.  The  circumstances  of 
her  introduction  to  him  had  dropped  from  his  mind 
as  irrelevant  accidents,  like  the  absurdities  which 
occur  in  our  sweetest  and  most  solemn  dreams  with 
out  marring  their  general  impression  in  our  memo 
ries.  Every  glance  he  threw  upon  his  companion, 
while  on  the  one  hand  it  shocked  his  illusion  in 
that  she  seemed  not  likely  to  vanish  away,  on  the 
other  strengthened  it  with  an  indescribable  thrill 
by  the  revelation  of  some  fresh  trait  of  face  or 
figure,  some  new  expression,  that  reproduced  the 
Miss  Rood  of  his  youth.  Not,  indeed,  that  it  is 
likely  his  companion  was  thus  perfectly  the  double 
of  that  lady,  although  so  much  resembling  her, 
but  the  common  graces  of  maidenhood  were  in  Mr. 
Morgan's  mind  the  peculiar  personal  qualities  of 
the  only  woman  he  had  ever  much  known. 

Of  his  own  accord  he  would  not  have  dared  to 
risk  breaking  the  charm  by  a  word.  But  his  com 
panion  —  who,  as  is  tolerably  evident  by  this  time, 
was  Mabel  French  —  had  meanwhile  formed  a 
scheme  quite  worthy  of  her  audacious  temper. 
She  had  at  once  recognized  both  Mr.  Morgan  and 
Miss  Rood,  and  had  gone  thus  far  from  a  mere  ro 
mantic  impulse,  without  definite  intentions  of  any 
sort.  But  the  idea  now  came  into  her  head  that 
she  might  take  advantage  of  this  extraordinary  sit 
uation  to  try  a  match-making  experiment,  which 
instantly  captivated  her  fancy.  So  she  said,  while 
ever  so  gently  pressing  his  arm  and  looking  up 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  151 

into  his  face  with  an  arch  smile  (she  was  recog 
nized  as  the  best  amateur  actress  in  her  set  at 
home),  "  I  wonder  if  the  moon  will  be  so  mellow 
after  we  are  married?  " 

His  illusion  was  rudely  disturbed  by  the  shock 
of  an  articulate  voice,  softly  and  low  as  she  spoke, 
and  he  looked  around  with  a  startled  expression  that 
made  her  fear  her  role  was  ended.  But  she  could 
not  know  that  the  eyes  she  turned  to  his  were  mir 
rors  where  he  saw  his  dead  youth.  The  two  Miss 
Roods  —  the  girl  and  the  woman,  the  past  and  the 
present  —  were  fused  and  become  one  in  his  mind. 
Their  identity  flashed  upon  him. 

An  artesian  well  sunk  from  the  desert  surface 
through  the  underlying  strata,  the  layers  of  ages, 
strikes  some  lake  long  ago  covered  over,  and  the 
water  welling  up  converts  the  upper  waste  into  a 
garden.  Just  so  at  her  words  and  her  look  his 
heart  suddenly  filled,  as  if  it  came  from  afar,  with 
the  youthful  passion  he  had  felt  toward  Miss  Eood, 
but  which,  he  knew  not  exactly  when  or  how,  had 
been  gradually  overgrown  with  the  dullness  of  fa 
miliarity  and  had  lapsed  into  an  indolent  affection 
ate  habit.  The  warm,  voluptuous  pulse  of  this  new 
feeling  —  new,  and  yet  instantly  recognized  as  old 
—  brought  with  it  a  flood  of  youthful  associations, 
and  commingled  the  far  past  with  the  present  in 
a  confusion  more  complete  and  more  intoxicating 
than  ever.  He  saw  double  ^again.  "  Married  !  " 
he  murmured  dreamily.  "  Yes,  surely,  we  will  be 
married." 


152  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S   DREAM 

And  as  he  spoke,  he  looked  at  her  with  such  a 
peculiar  expression  that  she  was  a  little  frightened. 
It  looked  like  a  more  serious  business  than  she  had 
counted  on,  and  for  a  moment,  if  she  could  have 
cut  and  run,  perhaps  she  would  have  done  so. 
But  she  had  a  strain  of  the  true  histrionic  artist 
about  her,  and  with  a  little  effort  rose  to  the  diffi 
culty  of  the  role.  "  Of  course  we  will  be  married," 
she  replied,  with  an  air  of  innocent  surprise.  "  You 
speak  as  if  you  had  just  thought  of  it." 

He  turned  toward  her  as  if  he  would  sober  his 
senses  by  staring  at  her,  his  pupils  dilating  and 
contracting  in  the  instinctive  effort  to  clear  the 
mind  by  clearing  the  eyes. 

But  with  a  steady  pressure  on  his  arm  she  com 
pelled  him  to  walk  on  by  her  side.  Then  she  said, 
in  a  soft,  low  voice,  as  if  a  little  awed  by  what  she 
were  telling,  while  at  the  same  time  she  nestled 
nearer  his  side,  "  I  had  such  a  sad  dream  last  night, 
and  your  strange  talk  reminds  me  of  it.  It  seemed 
as  if  we  were  old  and  white-haired  and  stooping, 
and  went  wandering  about,  still  together,  but  not 
married,  lonely  and  broken.  And  I  woke  up  feel 
ing  you  can't  think  how  dreary  and  sad,  —  as  if  a 
bell  had  tolled  in  my  ears  as  I  slept ;  and  the  feel 
ing  was  so  strong  that  I  put  my  fingers  to  my  face 
to  find  if  it  was  withered  ;  and  when  I  could  not 
tell  certainly,  I  got  up  and  lit  my  lamp  and  looked 
in  the  glass  ;  and  my  face,  thank  God  !  was  fresh 
and  young ;  but  I  sat  on  my  bed  and  cried  to  think 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  153 

of  the  poor  old  people  I  had  left  behind  in  my 
dream." 

Mabel  had  so  fallen  into  the  spirit  of  her  part 
that  she  was  really  crying  as  she  ended.  Her  tears 
completed  Mr.  Morgan's  mental  confusion,  and  he 
absolutely  did  not  know  whom  he  was  addressing 
or  where  he  was  himself,  as  he  cried,  "  No,  no, 
Mary !  Don't  cry !  It  shall  not  be ;  it  shall  never 
be." 

Lightly  withdrawing  her  hand  from  his  arm,  she 
glided  like  a  sprite  from  his  side,  and  was  lost 
in  the  shadows,  while  her  whispered  words  still 
sounded  in  his  ear,  "  Good-by  for  thirty  years !  " 

A  moment  after,  three  notes,  clear  as  a  bird's 
call,  sounded  from  the  direction  whither  she  had 
vanished,  and  Miss  Rood's  companion,  breaking 
off  short  a  remark  on  the  excessive  dryness  of  the 
weather,  bowed  awkwardly  and  also  disappeared 
among  the  shadows. 

When  Miss  Rood  laid  her  hand  on  Mr.  Mor 
gan's  arm  to  recall  him  to  the  fact  that  they  were 
now  alone  together,  he  turned  quickly,  and  his  eyes 
swept  her  from  head  to  foot,  and  then  rested  on  her 
face  with  an  expression  of  intense  curiosity  and  a 
wholly  new  interest,  as  if  he  were  tracing  out  a  sud 
denly  suggested  resemblance  which  overwhelmed 
him  with  emotion.  And  as  he  gazed,  his  eyes  began 
to  take  fire  from  the  faded  features  on  which 
they  had  rested  so  many  years  in  mere  complacent 
friendliness,  and  she  instinctively  averted  her  face. 


154  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

Long  intimacy  had  made  her  delicately  sensitive 
to  his  moods,  and  when  he  drew  her  arm  in  his 
and  turned  to  walk,  although  he  had  not  uttered 
a  word,  she  trembled  with  agitation. 

44  Mary,  we  have  had  an  extraordinary  experi 
ence  to-night,"  he  said.  The  old  dreaminess  in  his 
voice,  as  of  one  narcotized  or  in  a  trance,  sometimes 
a  little  forced,  as  of  one  trying  to  dream,  to  which 
she  had  become  accustomed,  and  of  which  in  her 
heart  of  hearts  she  was  very  weary,  was  gone.  In 
its  place  she  recognized  a  resonance  which  still 
further  confused  her  with  a  sense  of  altered  rela 
tions.  His  polarity  had  changed :  his  electricity 
was  no  longer  negative,  but  positive. 

Her  feminine  instinct  vaguely  alarmed,  she  re 
plied,  "Yes,  indeed,  but  it  is  getting  late.  Hadn't 
we  better  go  in  ?  "  What  lent  the  unusual  intona 
tion  of  timidity  to  her  voice  ?  Certainly  nothing 
that  she  could  have  explained. 

"  Not  quite  yet,  Mary,"  he  answered,  turning  his 
gaze  once  more  fully  upon  her. 

Her  eyes  dropped  before  his,  and  a  moment  after 
fluttered  up  to  find  an  explanation  for  their  be 
havior,  only  to  fall  again  in  blind  panic.  For, 
mingling  unmistakably  with  the  curiosity  with 
which  he  was  still  studying  her  features,  was  a  new 
born  expression  of  appropriation  and  passionate 
complacency.  Her  senses  whirled  in  a  bewilder 
ment  that  had  a  suffocating  sweetness  about  it. 
Though  she  now  kept  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  she 


A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM  155 

felt  his  constant  sidewise  glances,  and,  desperately 
seeking  relief  from  the  conscious  silence  that  en 
veloped  them  like  a  vapor  of  intoxicating  fumes, 
she  forced  herself  to  utter  the  merest  triviality  she 
could  summon  to  her  lips :  "  See  that  house."  The 
husky  tones  betrayed  more  agitation  than  the  ruse 
concealed. 

He  answered  as  irrelevantly  as  she  had  spoken, 
"  Yes,  indeed,  so  it  is."  That  was  their  only  at 
tempt  at  conversation. 

For  a  half  hour  —  it  might  have  been  much 
more  or  much  less  —  they  walked  in  this  way, 
thrilling  with  the  new  magnetism  that  at  once  at 
tracted  and  estranged  them  with  an  extraordinary 
sense  of  strangeness  in  familiarity.  At  length  they 
paused  under  the  little  porch  of  Miss  Rood's  cot 
tage,  where  he  commonly  bade  her  good-evening 
after  their  walks.  The  timidity  and  vague  alarms 
that  had  paralyzed  her  while  they  were  walking 
disappeared  as  he  was  about  to  leave  her,  and  she 
involuntarily  returned  his  unusual  pressure  of  her 
hand. 

A  long  time  after,  behold  her  still  encircled  in 
his  arms,  not  blushing,  but  pale  and  her  eyes  full 
of  a  soft,  astonished  glow  !  "  Oh,  Robert !  "  was 
all  she  had  said  after  one  first  little  gasp. 

They  never  met  George  or  Mabel  again.  Mrs. 
Morgan  learned  subsequently  that  two  young  peo 
ple  from  the  city  answering  their  description  had 
been  guests  at  the  opposite  house,  and  had  left 


156  A  SUMMER  EVENING'S  DREAM 

Plainfield  the  morning  after  the  events  hereinbe 
fore  set  forth,  and  drew  her  conclusions  accordingly. 
But  her  husband  preferred  to  cherish  the  secret  be 
lief  that  his  theory  that  memories  might  become 
visible  had  proved  true  in  one  instance  at  least. 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

"  MUST  you  go  up  to  that  tiresome  old  college 
again  to-night  ?  " 

Pouting  lips  and  delicate  brows  fretted  in  pretty 
importunity  over  the  troubled  eyes  enforced  the 
pleading  tones,  and  yet  the  young  man  to  whom 
they  were  addressed  found  strength  to  reply  :  — 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  get  rid  of  it.  I  particularly 
promised  Sturgis  I  would  look  in  on  him,  and  it 
won't  do  for  me  to  cut  my  acquaintance  with  the 
class  entirely  just  because  I  'm  having  such  a  jolly 
time  down  here." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  don't  think  it  jolly  at  all,  or  you 
would  n't  be  so  eager  to  go  away.  I  'm  sure  I  must 
be  very  dull  company." 

The  hurt  tone  and  pretended  pique  with  which 
she  said  this  were  assuredly  all  that  was  needed  to 
make  the  petite  teaser  irresistible.  But  the  young 
man  replied,  regarding  her  the  while  with  an  admi 
ration  in  which  there  was  a  singular  expression  of 
uneasiness  :  — 

"  Can't,  Annie,  'pon  honor.  I  'm  engaged,  and 
you  know  — 

"  '  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more  !  '  " 


158  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

And  transferring  her  hand  to  his  lips  he  loosed  its 
soft,  lingering  clasp  and  was  gone,  stopping  at  the 
gate  to  throw  back  a  kiss  to  her  as  she  stood  in  the 
porch,  by  way  of  amends  for  his  hasty  parting. 

44  George  Hunt,  you  're  an  infernal  scamp  !  " 

These  were  the  opprobrious  words  he  muttered 
to  himself  as  he  passed  out  of  earshot.  The  bene 
ficent  common  law  does  not  condemn  a  man  merely 
on  his  own  confession  unless  circumstances  in  evi 
dence  lend  probability  to  his  self -accusation.  Be 
fore  we  coincide  in  Mr.  Hunt's  opinion  of  himself, 
let  us  therefore  inquire  into  the  circumstances. 

He  was  in  the  last  term  of  senior  year  at 

college.  For  the  past  year  he  had  been  boarding  at 
the  Giffords',  and  Annie  and  he  had  fallen  in  love. 
The  fall  on  his  part  had  been  quite  voluntary  and 
deliberate.  He  had  fallen  in  love  because  it  was 
the  correct  thing  for  a  young  collegian,  engaged  in 
the  study  of  the  humanities,  to  be  in  love,  and 
made  him  feel  more  like  a  man  than  smoking, 
drinking,  or  even  sporting  a  stove-pipe  hat  and 
cane.  Vanity  aside,  it  was  very  jolly  to  have  a 
fine,  nice  girl  who  thought  no  end  of  a  fellow,  to 
walk,  talk,  and  sing  with,  and  to  have  in  mind 
when  one  sang  the  college  songs  about  love  and 
wine  with  the  fellows.  And  it  gave  him  also  a 
very  agreeable  sense  of  superior  experience  as  he 
mingled  in  their  discussions  of  women  and  the  ten 
der  passion. 

But  withal  he  was  a  conscientious,  kind-hearted 


POTTS' S  PAINLESS  CURE  159 

young  fellow  enough,  and  had  suffered  occasional 
qualms  of  conscience  when  little  words  or  incidents 
had  impressed  him  with  the  knowledge  that  Annie's  L 
love  for  him  was  a  more  serious  matter  than  his  for/  ' 
her.  He  felt  that  by  insisting  on  exchanging  the 
pure  gold  of  her  earnest  affection  for  the  pinch 
beck  of  his  passing  fancy,  she  was  making  a  rogue 
of  him.  He  should  be  in  no  position  to  marry  for 
years,  nor  did  he  want  to  ;  and  if  he  had  wanted 
to,  though  he  felt  terribly  hard-hearted  when  he 
owned  it  to  himself,  his  feeling  toward  Annie  was 
not  quite  so  deep  as  to  be  a  real  wish  to  marry  her. 
As  his  last  year  in  college  approached  its  end,  he 
had  thought  more  and  more  of  these  things,  and 
had  returned  from  his  last  vacation  determined  to 
begin  to  draw  gradually  away  from  her,  and  with 
out  any  shock  to  bring  their  relations  back  to  the 
footing  of  friendship.  The  idea  seemed  a  very 
plausible  one,  but  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  state 
that,  living  in  the  same  house,  and  frequently  alone 
with  her,  it  took  about  a  week  and  a  few  dozen  re 
proachful  glances  from  grieving  eyes  to  melt  this 
artificial  ice  with  a  freshet  of  affection,  and  when, 
a  couple  of  months  later,  he  calmly  reviewed  the 
situation,  he  found  himself  involved  perceptibly 
deeper  than  ever,  on  account  of  the  attempt  at  ex 
trication. 

Only  two  or  three  weeks  of  the  term  remained,  and 
it  was  too  late  to  repeat  the  unsuccessful  experiment. 
He  had  tried  his  best  and  failed,  and  nothing  re- 


160  POTTS'S  PAINLESS   CURE 

mained  but  to  be  as  happy  as  possible  with  her  in  the 
short  time  left.  Then  she  must  get  over  her  disap 
pointment  as  other  girls  did  in  like  cases.  No 
doubt  some  woman  would  hurt  his  feelings  some  day, 
and  so  make  it  square.  He  took  much  satisfaction  in 
this  reflection.  But  such  cynical  philosophy  did  not 
lull  his  conscience,  which  alternately  inspired  his 
manner  with  an  unwonted  demonstrativeiiess  and 
tenderness,  and  again  made  him  so  uncomfortable  in 
her  presence  that  he  was  fain  to  tear  himself  away 
and  escape  from  her  sight  on  any  pretext.  Her 
tender  glances  and  confiding  manner  made  him 
feel  like  a  brute,  and  when  he  kissed  her  he  felt  that 
it  was  the  kiss  of  a  Judas.  Such  had  been  his 
feelings  this  evening,  and  such  were  the  reflections 
tersely  summed  up  in  that  ejaculation,  — 
"  George  Hunt,  you  're  an  infernal  scamp  !  " 
On  arriving  at  Sturgis's  room,  he  found  it  full 
of  tobacco  smoke,  and  the  usual  crowd  there,  who 
hailed  him  vociferously.  For  he  was  one  of  the 
most  popular  men  in  college,  although  for  a  year 
or  so  he  had  been  living  outside  the  buildings.  Sev 
eral  bottles  stood  on  the  tables,  but  the  fellows  had 
as  yet  arrived  only  at  the  argumentative  stage  of 
exhilaration,  and  it  so  happened  that  the  subject 
under  discussion  at  once  took  Hunt's  close  atten 
tion.  Mathewson  had  been  reading  the  first  vol 
ume  of  Goethe's  autobiography,  and  was  indulging 
in  some  strictures  on  his  course  in  jilting  Frederica 
and  leaving  the  poor  girl  heartbroken. 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  161 

"  But,  man,"  said  Sturgis,  "  lie  did  n't  want  to 
marry  her,  and  seeing  he  didn't,  nothing  could 
have  been  crueler  to  her,  to  say  nothing  of  himself, 
than  to  have  done  so." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Mathewson,  "  why  did  he  go 
and  get  her  in  love  with  him  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  took  his  risk  and  she  hers,  for  the  fun 
of  the  game.  She  happened  to  be  the  one  who 
paid  for  it,  but  it  might  just  as  well  have  been  he. 
Why,  Mat,  you  must  see  yourself  that  for  Goethe 
to  have  married  then  would  have  knocked  his  art- 
life  into  a  cocked  hat.  Your  artist  has  just  two 
great  foes,  —  laziness  and  matrimony.  Each  has 
slain  its  thousands.  Hitch  Pegasus  to  a  family  cart 
and  he  can't  go  off  the  thoroughfare.  He  must 
stick  to  the  ruts.  I  admit  that  a  bad  husband  may 
be  a  great  artist ;  but  for  a  good  husband,  an  ux 
orious,  contented  husband,  there  's  no  chance  at  all." 

"  You  are  neither  of  you  right,  as  usual,"  said 
little  Potts,  in  his  oracular  way. 

When  Potts  first  came  to  college,  the  fellows  used 
to  make  no  end  of  fun  of  the  air  of  superior  and 
conclusive  wisdom  with  which  he  assumed  to  lay 
down  the  law  on  every  question,  this  being  the 
more  laughable  because  he  was  such  a  little  chap. 
Potts  did  not  pay  the  least  attention  to  the 
jeers,  and  finally  the  jeerers  were  constrained  to 
admit  that  if  he  did  have  an  absurdly  pretentious 
way  of  talking,  his  talk  was  unusually  well  worth 
listening  to,  and  the  result  was  that  they  took  him 


162  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

at  his  own  valuation,  and,  for  the  sake  of  hearing 
what  he  had.  to  say,  quietly  submitted  to  his  as 
sumption  of  authority  as  court  of  appeal.  So  when 
he  coolly  declared  both  disputants  wrong,  they  man 
ifested  no  resentment,  but  only  an  interest  as  to 
what  he  was  going  to  say,  while  the  other  fellows 
also  looked  up  curiously. 

"  It  would  have  been  a  big  mistake  for  Goethe  to 
have  married  her,"  pursued  Potts,  in  his  deliberate 
monotone,  "  but  he  was  n't  justified  011  that  account 
in  breaking  her  heart.  It  was  his  business,  having 
got  her  in  love  with  him,  to  get  her  out  again  and 
leave  her  where  she  was." 

"Get  her  out  again?"  demanded  Mathewson. 
"  How  was  he  to  do  that  ?  " 

"  Humph !  "  grunted  Potts.  "  If  you  have  n't 
found  it  much  easier  to  lose  a  friend  than  to  win 
one,  you  're  luckier  than  most.  If  you  asked  me 
how  he  was  to  get  her  in  love  with  him,  I  should 
have  to  scratch  my  head,  but  the  other  thing  is  as 
easy  as  unraveling  a  stocking." 

"  Well,  but,  Potts,"  inquired  Sturgis,  with  inter 
est,  "  how  could  Goethe  have  gone  to  work,  for  in 
stance,  to  disgust  Frederica  with  him  ?  " 

"  Depends  on  the  kind  of  girl.  If  she  is  one  of 
your  high-steppers  as  to  dignity  and  sense  of  honor, 
let  him  play  mean  and  seem  to  do  a  few  dirty 
tricks.  If  she  's  a  stickler  for  manners  and  good 
taste,  let  him  betray  a  few  traits  of  boorishness  or 
Philistinism ;  or  if  she  has  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridic- 


POTTS'S   PAINLESS   CURE  163 

ulous,  let  him  make  an  ass  of  himself.  I  should 
say  the  last  would  be  the  surest  cure  and  leave 
least  of  a  sore  place  in  her  feelings,  but  it  would  be 
hardest  on  his  vanity.  Everybody  knows  that  a 
man  would  '  rather  seem  a  scamp  than  a  fool.' " 

"  I  don't  believe  there 's  a  man  in  the  world  who 
would  play  the  voluntary  fool  to  save  any  woman's 
heart  from  breaking,  though  he  might  manage  the 
scamp,"  remarked  Mathewson.  "And  anyhow, 
Potts,  I  believe  there  's  no  girl  who  would  n't  choose 
to  be  jilted  outright,  rather  than  be  juggled  out  of 
her  affections  that  way." 

"  No  doubt  she  would  say  so,  if  you  asked  her," 
replied  the  imperturbable  Potts.  "  A  woman 
always  prefers  a  nice  sentimental  sorrow  to  a 
fancy-free  state.  But  it  isn't  best  for  her,  and 
looking  out  for  her  good,  you  must  deprive  her  of 
it.  Women  are  like  children,  you  know,  our  nat 
ural  wards." 

This  last  sentiment  impressed  these  beardless 
youths  as  a  clincher,  and  there  was  a  pause.  But 
Mathewson,  who  was  rather  strong  on  the  morali 
ties,  rallied  with  the  objection  that  Potts' s  plan 
would  be  deceit. 

"  Well,  now,  that 's  what  I  call  cheeky,"  replied 
its  author,  with  a  drawl  of  astonishment.  "  I  sup 
pose  it  wasn't  deceit  when  you  were  prancing 
around  in  your  best  clothes  both  literally  and  figu 
ratively,  trying  to  bring  your  good  points  into  such 
absurd  prominence  as  to  delude  her  into  the  idea 


164  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

that  you  had  no  bad  ones.  Oh,  no,  it 's  only  deceit 
when  you  appear  worse  than  you  are,  not  when 
you  try  to  appear  better.  Strikes  me  that  when 
you  've  got  a  girl  into  a  fix,  it  won't  do  at  that  time 
of  day  to  plead  your  conscience  as  a  reason  for  not 
getting  her  out  of  it.  Seeing  that  a  man  is  gener 
ally  ready  to  sacrifice  his  character  in  reality  to 
his  own  interests,  he  ought  to  be  willing  to  sacri 
fice  it  in  appearance  to  another's/' 

Mathewson  was  squelched,  but  Sturgis  came  to 
his  relief  with  the  suggestion  :  — 

"  Would  n't  a  little  genuine  heartache,  which  I 
take  it  is  healthy  enough,  if  it  isn't  pleasant,  be 
better  for  her  than  the  cynical  feeling,  the  disgust 
with  human  nature,  which  she  would  experience 
from  finding  her  ideal  of  excellence  a  scamp  or  a 
fool?" 

The  others  seemed  somewhat  impressed,  but 
Potts  merely  ejaculated,  — 

"  Bosh !  "  Allowing  a  brief  pause  for  this  ejac 
ulation  to  do  its  work  in  demoralizing  the  oppo 
sition  he  proceeded.  "  Sturgis,  you  remember 
'  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,'  and  how  Titania,  on 
the  application  of  Puck's  clarifying  lotion  to  her 
eyes,  perceives  that  in  Bottom  she  has  loved  an 
ass.  Don't  you  suppose  Titania  suffered  a  good 
deal  from  the  loss  of  her  ideal  ?  " 

There  was  a  general  snicker  at  Sturgis's  ex 
pense. 

"  Well,  now,"  continued  Potts  gravely,  "  a  wo- 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  165 

man  who  should  fall  in  love  with  one  of  us  fellows 
and  deem  him  a  hero  would  be  substantially  in 
Titania's  plight  when  she  adored  Bottom,  and 
about  as  much  an  object  of  pity  when  her  hero 
disclosed  an  asininity  which  would  be  at  least  as 
near  to  being  his  real  character  as  the  heroism  she 
ascribed  to  him." 

"That 's  all  very  well,"  said  Merril  dryly,  "but 
it  strikes  me  that  it 's  middling  cheeky  for  you 
fellows  to  be  discussing  how  you  '11  jilt  your  sweet 
hearts  with  least  expense  to  their  feelings,  when 
the  chances  are  that  if  you  should  ever  get  one, 
you  '11  need  all  your  wits  to  keep  her  from  jilting 
you." 

"  You  are,  as  usual,  trivial  and  inconsequential 
this  evening,  Merril,"  replied  Potts,  when  the 
laughter  had  subsided.  "  Supposing,  as  you  sug 
gest,  that  we  shall  be  the  jilted  and  not  the  jilters, 
it  will  be  certainly  for  our  interest  that  the  ladies 
should  spare  our  feelings  by  disenchanting  us,  — 
saying,  as  it  were,  the  charm  backward  that  first 
charmed  us.  He  who  would  teach  the  ladies  the 
method  and  enlist  their  tender  hearts  in  its  behalf 
would  be,  perhaps,  the  greatest  benefactor  his 
much-jilted  and  heart-sore  sex  ever  had.  Then, 
indeed,  with  the  heart  -  breakers  of  both  sexes 
pledged  to  so  humane  a  practice,  there  would  be 
no  more  any  such  thing  as  sorrow  over  unrequited 
affections,  and  the  poets  and  novelists  would  beg 
their  bread." 


166  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

"  That  is  a  millennial  dream,  Potts,"  responded 
Merril.  a  You  may  possibly  persuade  the  men  to 
make  theUjsetyes  disagreeable  for  pity's  sake,  but 
it  is  quite  too  much  to  expect  that  a  woman  would 
deliberately  put  herself  in  an  unbecoming  light, 
if  it  were  to  save  a  world  from  its  sins." 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  said  Potts  pensively ;  "  but 
considering  what  perfectly  inexhaustible  resources 
of  disagreeableness  there  are  in  the  best  of  us  and 
the  fairest  of  women,  it  seems  a  most  gratuitous 
cruelty  that  any  heart  should  suffer  when  a  very 
slight  revelation  would  heal  its  hurt.  We  can't 
help  people  suffering  because  we  are  so  faulty  and 
imperfect,  but  we  might  at  least  see  that  nobody 
ever  had  a  pang  from  thinking  us  better  than  we 
are." 

"  Look  at  Hunt !  "  said  Sturgis.  "  He  does  n't 
open  his  mouth,  but  drinks  in  Potts's  wisdom  as 
eagerly  as  if  he  did  n't  know  it  was  a  pump  that 
never  stops." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  among  those  who 
glanced  up  in  time  to  catch  the  expression  of  close 
attention  on  Hunt's  face. 

"  Probably  he  's  deliberating  on  the  application 
of  the  Potts  patent  painless  cure  to  some  recent 
victim  of  that  yellow  mustache  and  goatee,"  sug 
gested  Merril,  with  the  envy  of  a  smooth-faced 
youth  for  one  more  favored. 

Hunt,  whose  face  had  sprung  back  like  a  steel- 
trap  to  its  usual  indifferent  expression,  smiled  non- 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  16? 

chalantly  at  Merril's  remark.  One  whose  reticent 
habit  makes  his  secrets  so  absolutely  secure  as 
Hunt's  private  affairs  always  were  is  stirred  to 
amusement  rather  than  trepidation  by  random 
guesses  which  come  near  the  truth. 

"  If  I  were  situated  as  Merril  flatteringly  sug 
gests,  I  should  enjoy  nothing  better  than  such  an 
experiment,"  he  replied  deliberately.  "  It  would 
be  quite  a  novel  sensation  to  revolutionize  one's 
ordinary  rule  of  conduct  so  as  to  make  a  point  of 
seeming  bad  or  stupid.  There  would  be  as  much 
psychology  in  it  as  in  an  extra  term,  at  least.  A 
man  would  find  out,  for  instance,  how  much  there 
was  in  him  besides  personal  vanity  and  love  of 
approbation.  It  would  be  a  devilish  small  residue 
with  most  of  us,  I  fancy." 

The  talk  took  a  new  turn,  and  the  fun  grew  fast 
and  furious  around  Hunt,  who  sat  puffing  his  pipe, 
absorbed  in  contemplation.  At  about  half -past 
nine,  when  things  were  getting  hilarious,  he  beat 
a  retreat,  followed  by  the  reproaches  of  the  fel 
lows.  He  was  determined  to  administer  the  first 
dose  of  Potts's  painless  cure  to  his  interesting  pa 
tient  that  very  evening,  if  she  had  not  already 
retired.  He  was  in  high  good  humor.  Potts  was 
a  brick  ;  Potts  was  a  genius.  How  lucky  that  he 
had  happened  to  go  up  to  college  that  night !  He 
felt  as  if  an  incubus  were  lifted  off  his  mind.  No 
more  pangs  of  conscience  and  uncomfortable  sense 
of  being  a  mean  and  cruel  fellow,  for  him.  Annie 


168  POTTS'S   PAINLESS  CURE 

should  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  him  before  he  had 
ended  with  her.  She  should  experience  a  heart 
felt  relief,  instead  of  a  broken  heart,  on  his  depar 
ture.  He  could  n't  help  chuckling.  He  had  such 
confidence  in  his  nerve  and  his  reticent  habit  that 
his  confidence  and  ability  to  carry  out  the  scheme 
were  undoubting,  and  at  its  first  suggestion  he  had 
felt  almost  as  much  relief  as  if  he  had  already 
executed  it. 

On  arriving  home,  he  found  Annie  sewing  alone 
in  the  parlor,  and  a  little  offish  in  manner  by  way 
of  indicating  her  sense  of  his  offense  in  leaving  her 
to  spend  the  evening  alone. 

"  Really,  Annie,"  he  said,  as  he  sat  down  and 
unfolded  the  evening  paper,  "  I  try  to  give  you  all 
the  time  I  can  spare.  If,  instead  of  sulking,  you 
had  taken  a  piece  of  paper  and  calculated  how 
many  hours  this  week  I  have  managed  to  give  you 
my  company,  you  would  scarcely  have  felt  like 
repining  because  you  could  n't  see  me  for  an  hour 
or  two  this  evening." 

That  was  the  first  gun  of  the  campaign.  She 
looked  up  in  blank  surprise,  too  much  astonished, 
for  the  moment,  to  be  indignant  at  such  a  vulgarly 
conceited  remark  from  him.  Without  giving  her 
time  to  speak,  he  proposed  to  read  the  newspaper 
aloud,  and  at  once  began,  making  a  point  of  select 
ing  the  dullest  editorials  and  the  flattest  items  and 
witticisms,  enlivening  them  with  occasional  com 
ments  of  studied  insipidity,  and  one  or  two  stories, 


POTTS' S  PAINLESS  CURE  169 

of  which  he  carefully  left  out  the  "  nubs."  He 
was  apparently  making  an  unusual  effort  all  the 
while  to  be  entertaining,  and  Annie,  finding  no 
opening  for  expressing  her  vexation,  finally  ex 
cused  herself  and  went  upstairs,  with  no  very 
angelic  expression  of  countenance. 

"  Pretty  well  for  a  beginning,"  was  Hunt's  mut 
tered  comment  as  he  laid  down  the  paper. 

At  breakfast  Mr.  Gifford  asked  him  :  — 

"  Shall  I  give  you  some  tongue  ?  " 

Looking  around  with  the  air  of  one  saying  a 
good  thing,  he  replied  :  — 

"  Thank  you,  I  have  enough  of  my  own." 

The  silence  was  painful.  Mr.  Gifford  looked 
as  if  he  had  lost  a  near  friend.  Mrs.  Gifford  at 
length,  remembering  that  Hunt  was  a  guest,  forced 
a  momentary,  ghastly  smile.  Annie  was  looking 
melancholy  enough  before,  but  a  slight  compres 
sion  of  the  lips  indicated  that  she  had  received  the 
full  effect.  Certain  degrees  of  badness  in  jokes 
stamp  the  joker  as  a  natural  inferior  in  the  eyes 
of  even  the  most  rabid  of  social  levelers.  Scarcely 
any  possible  exhibition  of  depravity  gives  quite 
the  sickening  sense  of  disappointment  in  the  per 
petrator  imparted  by  a  genuinely  bad  or  stale 
joke.  Two  or  more  similar  sensations  coming  near 
together  are  multiplied  by  mutual  reverberations 
so  as  to  be  much  more  impressive  than  if  they 
occurred  at  considerable  intervals.  Hunt's  tongue 
joke  not  only  retroacted  to  deepen  the  impression 


170  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

of  vulgarity  which  his  last  evening's  performance 
had  given  Annie,  but  in  turn  was  made  to  appear 
a  far  more  significant  indication  of  his  character 
on  account  of  its  sequence  to  that  display. 

That  evening  he  made  her  a  little  present,  hav 
ing  selected  as  a  gift  a  book  of  the  day  of  which 
he  had  chanced  to  overhear  her  express  to  a  third 
person  a  particularly  cordial  detestation.  It  was 
decidedly  the  best  book  of  the  year,  he  said  ;  he  had 
read  it  himself.  She  was  obliged  to  thank  him 
for  it,  and  even  to  tell  one  or  two  polite  fibs,  which 
wrenched  her  terribly,  and  the  memory  of  which 
lent  a  special  spite  to  the  vehemence  with  which 
she  threw  the  book  into  a  corner  on  reaching  her 
room.  Then  she  went  remorsefully  and  picked  it 
up  again,  and  after  holding  it  awhile  irresolutely, 
proceeded  to  hide  it  away  in  a  far  corner  of  one 
of  the  least  used  drawers  of  her  bureau. 

Not  sleeping  very  well  that  night,  she  came 
downstairs  next  morning  just  as  Hunt  was  leav 
ing.  He  kissed  his  hand  to  her  and  called  out 
"  Aw  revore."  At  first  she  was  merely  puzzled, 
and  smiled,  and  then  it  occurred  to  her  that  it  was 
doubtless  the  barbarous  way  he  pronounced  au 
revoir,  and  the  smile  gave  place  to  au  expression 
of  slight  nausea.  As  Hunt  well  knew,  her  pet 
aversion  was  people  who  lugged  mispronounced 
French  phrases  into  their  conversation  under  the 
impression  that  they  imparted  a  piquant  and  grace 
ful  effect.  It  was  a  touch  of  vulgarity  which 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS   CURE  171 

inspired  her  with  a  violent  contempt  absurdly 
disproportioned  to  the  gravity  of  the  offense.  It 
had  always  been  a  cherished  theory  of  hers  that 
there  were  certain  offenses  in  manners  which  were 
keys  to  character.  If  persons  committed  them,  it 
implied  an  essential  strain  of  vulgarity  in  their 
dispositions.  Judged  by  this  theory,  where  would 
her  lover  come  out? 

Hunt  managed  to  get  into  a  political  discussion 
with  Mr.  Gifford  at  table  that  noon,  talking  in 
a  rather  supercilious  tone,  and  purposely  making 
several  bad  blunders,  which  Mr.  Gifford  corrected 
rather  pointedly.  Annie  could  not  help  observing 
that  her  lover's  conceit  and  ignorance  of  the  sub 
jects  discussed  seemed  about  equal. 

"  How  do  you  like  your  book  ?  "  he  asked  that 
evening. 

She  murmured  something  confusedly. 

"  Have  n't  begun  it  yet  ?  "  he  inquired  in  sur 
prise.  "  Well,  when  once  you  do,  I  'm  sure  you  '11 
not  lay  it  down  till  it 's  finished.  And,  by  the 
way,  your  judgment  in  literary  matters  is  so  good, 
I  'd  like  to  get  your  opinion  on  the  essay  I  'm  get 
ting  up  for  Commencement.  I  think  it 's  rather 
the  best  thing  I  Ve  written." 

He  proceeded  to  read  what  purported  to  be  a 
sketch  of  its  argument,  which  proved  to  be  so  flat 
and  vapid  that  Annie  blushed  with  shame  for  his 
mental  poverty,  and  was  fain  to  cover  her  chagrin 
with  a  few  meaningless  comments. 


172  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

Her  mind  was  the  theatre  of  a  struggle  between 
disgust  and  affection,  which  may  be  called  ghastly. 
Had  he  been  openly  wicked,  she  would  have  known 
how  to  give  a  good  account  of  all  disloyal  sugges 
tions  to  desert  or  forget  him.  But  what  could  she 
do  against  such  a  cold,  creeping  thing  as  this  dis 
gust  and  revulsion  of  taste,  which,  like  the  chills 
of  incipient  fever,  mingled  with  every  rising  pulse 
of  tender  feeling?  Finally,  out  of  her  despera 
tion,  she  concluded  that  the  fault  must  be  with 
her ;  that  she  was  fickle,  while  he  was  true.  She 
tried  hard  to  despise  herself,  and  determined  to 
fight  down  her  growing  coldness,  and  reciprocate 
as  it  deserved  the  affection  with  which  he  was  so 
lavish.  The  result  of  these  mental  exercises  was 
to  impart  a  humility  and  constrained  cordiality  to 
her  air  very  opposite  to  its  usual  piquancy  and 
impulsiveness,  and,  by  a  sense  of  her  own  short 
comings,  to  distract  her  mind  from  speculation, 
which  she  might  otherwise  have  indulged,  over  the 
sudden  development  of  so  many  unpleasant  quali 
ties  in  her  lover.  Though,  indeed,  had  her  specu 
lations  been  never  so  active  and  ingenious,  the 
actual  plan  on  which  Hunt  was  proceeding  would 
probably  have  lain  far  beyond  the  horizon  of  her 
conjecture. 

Meanwhile,  Hunt  was  straitened  for  time  ;  only 
eight  or  ten  days  of  the  term  were  left,  and  in  that 
time  he  must  effect  Annie's  cure,  if  at  all.  A  slow 
cure  would  be  much  more  likely  to  prove  a  sure 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  173 

one,  but  he  must  do  the  best  he  could  in  the  time 
he  had.  And  yet  he  did  not  dare  to  multiply 
startling  strokes,  for  fear  of  bewildering  instead 
of  estranging  her,  and,  possibly,  of  suggesting  sus 
picion.  Stimulated  by  the  emergency,  he  now 
began  to  put  in  some  very  fine  work,  which,  al 
though  it  may  not  be  very  impressive  in  descrip 
tion,  was  probably  more  effective  than  any  other 
part  of  his  tactics.  Under  guise  of  appearing 
particularly  attentive  and  devoted,  he  managed  to 
offend  Annie's  taste  and  weary  her  patience  in 
every  way  that  ingenuity  could  suggest.  His  very 
manifestations  of  affection  were  so  associated  with 
some  affectation  or  exhibition  of  bad  taste,  as  al 
ways  to  leave  an  unpleasant  impression  on  her 
mind.  He  took  as  much  pains  to  avoid  saying 
tolerably  bright  or  sensible  things  in  his  conver 
sation  as  people  generally  do  to  say  them.  In 
all  respects  he  just  reversed  the  rules  of  conduct 
suggested  by  the  ordinary  motive  of  a  desire  to 
ingratiate  one's  self  with  others. 

And  by  virtue  of  a  rather  marked  endowment 
of  that  delicate  sympathy  with  others'  tastes  and 
feelings  which  underlies  good  manners,  he  was 
able  to  make  himself  far  more  unendurable  to 
Annie  than  a  less  sympathetic  person  could  have 
done.  Evening  after  evening  she  went  to  her 
room  feeling  as  if  she  were  covered  with  pin-pricks, 
from  a  score  of  little  offenses  to  her  fastidious 
taste  which  he  had  managed  to  commit.  His 


174  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

thorough  acquaintance  with  her,  and  knowledge 
of  her  aesthetic  standards  in  every  respect,  enabled 
him  to  operate  with  a  perfect  precision  that  did 
not  waste  a  stroke. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  it  was  altogether 
without  sharp  twinges  of  compunction,  and  occa 
sional  impulses  to  throw  off  his  disguise  and  enjoy 
the  bliss  of  reconciliation,  that  he  pursued  this 
cold-blooded  policy.  He  never  could  have  carried 
it  so  far,  had  he  not  been  prepared  by  a  long  and 
painful  period  of  self-reproach  on  account  of  his 
entanglement.  It  was,  however,  chiefly  at  the  out 
set  that  he  had  felt  like  weakening.  As  soon  as 
she  ceased  to  seem  shocked  or  surprised  at  his  dis 
closures  of  insipidity  or  conceit,  it  became  com 
paratively  easy  work  to  make  them.  So  true  is  it 
that  it  is  the  fear  of  the  first  shocked  surprise  of 
others,  rather  than  of  their  deliberate  reprobation, 
which  often  deters  us  from  exhibitions  of  unwor- 
thiness. 

In  connection  with  this  mental  and  moral  mas 
querade,  he  adopted  several  changes  in  his  dress, 
buying  some  clothes  of  very  glaring  patterns,  and 
blossoming  out  in  particularly  gaudy  neckties  and 
flashy  jewelry.  Lest  Annie  should  be  puzzled  to 
account  for  such  a  sudden  access  of  depravity,  he 
explained  that  his  mother  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  selecting  some  of  his  lighter  toilet  articles  for 
him,  but  this  term  he  was  trying  for  himself. 
Did  n't  she  think  his  taste  was  good  ?  He  also 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  175 

slightly  changed  the  cut  of  his  hair  and  whiskers, 
to  affect  a  foppish  air,  his  theory  being  that  all 
these  external  alterations  would  help  out  the  effect 
of  being  a  quite  different  person  from  the  George 
Hunt  with  whom  she  had  fallen  in  love. 

Lou  Roberts  was  Annie's  confidante,  older  than 
she,  much  more  dignified,  and  of  the  reticent  sort 
to  which  the  mercurial  and  loquacious  naturally 
tend  to  reveal  their  secrets.  She  knew  all  that 
Annie  knew,  dreamed,  or  hoped  about  Hunt ;  but 
had  never  happened  to  meet  him,  much  to  the 
annoyance  of  Annie,  who  had  longed  inexpressibly 
for  the  time  when  Lou  should  have  seen  him,  and 
she  herself  be  able  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  hearing 
his  praises  from  her  lips.  One  evening  it  chanced 
that  Lou  called  with  a  gentleman  while  Hunt  had 
gone  out  to  rest  himself,  after  some  pretty  arduous 
masquerading,  by  a  little  unconstrained  intercourse 
with  the  fellows  up  at  college.  As  he  returned 
home,  at  about  half-past  nine,  he  heard  voices 
through  the  open  windows,  and  guessed  who  the 
callers  were. 

As  he  entered  the  room,  despite  the  disenchant 
ing  experiences  of  the  past  week,  it  was  with  a  cer 
tain  pretty  agitation  that  Annie  rose  to  introduce 
him,  and  she  looked  blank  enough  when,  without 
waiting  for  her  offices,  he  bowed  with  a  foppish 
air  to  Lou  and  murmured  a  salutation. 

"  What,  are  you  acquainted  already  ?  "  exclaimed 
Annie. 


176  POTTS'S  PAINLESS   CURE 

"  I  certainly  did  not  know  that  we  were,"  said 
Lou  coldly,  not  thinking  it  possible  that  this 
flashily  dressed  youth,  with  such  an  enormous 
watch-chain  and  insufferable  manners,  could  be 
Annie's  hero. 

"  Ah,  very  likely  not,"  he  replied  carelessly, 
adding  with  an  explanatory  smile  that  took  in  all 
the  group :  "  Ladies'  faces  are  so  much  alike  that, 
'pon  my  soul,  unless  there  is  something  distin 
guished  about  them,  I  don't  know  whether  I  know 
them  or  not.  I  depend  on  them  to  tell  me ;  fortu 
nately  they  never  forget  gentlemen." 

Miss  Roberts' s  face  elongated  into  a  freezing 
stare.  Annie  stood  there  in  a  sort  of  stupor  till 
Hunt  said  briskly  :  — 

"  Well,  Annie,  are  you  going  to  introduce  this 
lady  to  me?" 

As  she  almost  inaudibly  pronounced  their  names, 
he  effusively  extended  his  hand,  which  was  not 
taken,  and  exclaimed  :  - 

"  Lou  Roberts  !  is  it  possible  ?  Excuse  me  if 
I  call  you  Lou.  Annie  talks  of  you  so  much  that 
I  feel  quite  familiar." 

"  Do  you  know,  Miss  Roberts,"  he  continued, 
seating  himself  close  beside  her,  "  I  'm  quite  pre 
pared  to  like  you  ?  " 

"  Indeed  !  "  was  all  that  young  lady  could  man 
age  to  articulate. 

"  Yes,"  continued  he,  with  the  manner  of  one 
giving  a  flattering  reassurance,  "  Annie  has  told 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  177 

me  so  much  in  your  favor  that,  if  half  is  true, 
we  shall  get  on  together  excellently.  Such  girl 
friendships  as  yours  and  hers  are  so  charming." 

Miss  Roberts  glanced  at  Annie,  and  seeing  that 
her  face  glowed  with  embarrassment,  smothered  her 
indignation,  and  replied  with  a  colorless  "  Yes." 

"  The  only  drawback,"  continued  Hunt,  who 
manifestly  thought  he  was  making  himself  very 
agreeable,  "  is  that  such  bosom  friends  always  tell 
each  other  all  their  affairs,  which  of  course  involve 
the  affairs  of  all  their  friends  also.  Now  I  sup 
pose,"  he  added,  with  a  knowing  grin  and  some 
thing  like  a  wink,  "that  what  you  don't  know 
about  me  is  n't  worth  knowing." 

"  You  ought  to  know,  certainly,''  said  Miss 
Roberts. 

"  Not  that  I  blame  you,"  he  went  on,  ignoring 
her  sarcasm.  "  There  's  no  confidence  betrayed, 
for  when  I  'm  talking  with  a  lady,  I  always  adapt 
my  remarks  to  the  ears  of  her  next  friend.  It 
prevents  misunderstandings." 

Miss  Roberts  made  no  reply,  and  the  silence 
attracted  notice  to  the  pitiable  little  dribble  of 
forced  talk  with  which  Annie  was  trying  to  keep 
the  other  gentleman's  attention  from  the  exhibi 
tion  Hunt  was  making  of  himself.  The  latter, 
after  a  pause  long  enough  to  intimate  that  he 
thought  it  was  Miss  Roberts's  turn  to  say  some 
thing,  again  took  up  the  conversation,  as  if  bound 
to  be  entertaining  at  any  cost. 


178  POTTS'S  PAINLESS   CURE 

"  Annie  and  I  were  passing  your  house  the  other 
clay.  What  a  queer  little  box  it  is  !  I  should 
think  you  'd  be  annoyed  by  the  bowlings  of  that 
church  next  door.  The are  so  noisy." 

"  I  am  a  myself,"  said  Miss  Roberts,  re 
garding  him  crushingly. 

Hunt,  of  course,  knew  that,  and  had  advisedly 
selected  her  denomination  for  his  strictures.  But 
he  replied  as  if  a  little  confused  by  his  blunder :  — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.     You  don't  look  like  one." 

"  How  do  they  usually  look  ? "  she  asked 
sharply. 

"  Why,  it  is  generally  understood  that  they 
are  rather  vulgar,  I  believe,  but  you,  I  am  sure, 
look  like  a  person  of  culture."  He  said  this  as  if 
he  thought  he  were  conveying  a  rather  neat  com 
pliment.  Indignant  as  she  was,  Miss  Roberts's 
strongest  feeling  was  compassion  for  Annie,  and 
she  bit  her  lips  and  made  no  reply. 

After  a  moment's  silence,  Hunt  asked  her  how 
she  liked  his  goatee.  It  was  a  new  way  of  cutting 
his  whiskers,  and  young  ladies  were  generally  close 
observers  and  therefore  good  judges  of  such  matters. 
Annie,  finding  it  impossible  to  keep  up  even  the 
pretense  of  talking  any  longer,  sat  helplessly  staring 
at  the  floor,  and  waiting  in  nerveless  despair  for 
what  he  would  say  next,  fairly  hating  Lou  because 
she  did  not  go. 

"  What 's  come  over  you,  Annie  ?  "  asked  Hunt 
briskly.  "  Are  you  talked  out  so  soon  ?  I  sup- 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  179 

pose  she  is  holding  back  to  give  you  a  chance  to 
make  my  acquaintance,  Miss  Roberts,  or  do  let  me 
call  you  Lou.  You  must  improve  your  opportu 
nity,  for  she  will  want  to  know  your  opinion  of  me. 
May  I  hope  it  will  prove  not  wholly  unfavorable  ?  " 
This  last  was  with  a  killing  smile. 

"  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late.  We  must  be 
going,"  said  Miss  Roberts,  rising.  She  had  been 
lingering,  in  the  hope  that  something  would  happen 
to  leave  a  more  pleasant  impression  of  Hunt's 
appearance,  but  seeing  that  matters  were  drifting 
from  bad  to  worse,  she  hastened  to  break  off  the 
painful  scene.  Annie  rose  silently  without  saying 
a  word,  and  avoided  Lou's  eyes  as  she  kissed  her 
good-by. 

"  Must  you  go  ?  "  Hunt  said.  "  I  'm  sure  you 
would  not  be  in  such  haste  if  you  knew  how  rarely 
it  is  that  my  engagements  leave  me  free  to  devote 
an  evening  to  the  ladies.  You  might  call  on  Annie 
a  dozen  times  and  not  meet  me." 

As  soon  as  the  callers  had  gone,  Hunt  picked  up 
the  evening  paper  and  sat  down  to  glance  it  over, 
remarking  lightly  as  he  did  so  :  — 

"  Rather  nice  girl,  your  friend,  though  she 
does  n't  seem  very  talkative." 

Annie  made  no  reply,  and  he  looked  up. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  staring  at  me  in  such 
an  extraordinary  manner  for  ?  " 

Was  he  then  absolutely  unconscious  of  the 
figure  he  had  made  of  himself  ? 


180  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

"  You  are  not  vexed  because  I  went  out  and 
left  you  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening?"  he 
said  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed,"  she  wearily  replied. 

She  sat  there  with  trembling  lip  and  a  red  spot 
in  each  cheek,  looking  at  him  as  he  read  the  paper 
unconcernedly,  till  she  could  bear  it  no  longer, 
and  then  silently  rose  and  glided  out  of  the  room. 
Hunt  heard  her  running  upstairs  as  fast  as  she 
could,  and  closing  and  locking  her  chamber  door. 

Next  day  he  did  not  see  her  till  evening,  when 
she  was  exceedingly  cold  and  distant,  and  evidently 
very  much  depressed.  After  bombarding  her  with 
grieved  and  reproachful  glances  for  some  time,  he 
came  over  to  her  side,  they  two  having  been  left 
alone,  and  said,  with  affectionate  raillery  :  — 

"  I  'd  no  idea  you  were  so  susceptible  to  the 
green-eyed  monster." 

She  looked  at  him,  astonished  quite  out  of  her 
reserve. 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  need  n't  pretend  to  misunderstand," 
he  replied,  with  a  knowing  nod.  "  Don't  you  sup 
pose  I  saw  how  vexed  you  were  last  night  when 
your  dear  friend  Miss  Roberts  was  trying  to  flirt 
with  me?  But  you  need  n't  have  minded  so  much. 
She  is  n't  my  style  at  all." 

There  was  something  so  perfectly  maddening  in 
this  cool  assumption  that  her  bitter  chagrin  on  his 
account  was  a  fond  jealousy,  that  she  fairly  choked 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  181 

with  exasperation,  and  shook  herself  away  from 
his  caress  as  if  a  snake  had  stung  her.  Her  thin 
nostrils  vibrated,  her  red  lips  trembled  with  scorn, 
and  her  black  eyes  flashed  ominously.  He  had 
only  seen  them  lighten  with  love  before,  and  it 
was  a  very  odd  sensation  to  see  them  for  the  first 
time  blazing  with  anger,  and  that  against  himself. 
Affecting  an  offended  tone,  he  said  :  — 

"  This  is  really  too  absurd,  Annie,"  and  left  the 
room  as  if  in  a  pet,  just  in  time  to  escape  the  out 
burst  he  knew  was  coming.  She  sat  in  the  parlor 
with  firm-set  lips  till  quite  a  late  hour  that  even 
ing,  hoping  that  he  would  come  down  and  give 
her  a  chance  to  set  him  right  with  an  indignant 
explanation.  So  humiliating  to  her  did  his  misun 
derstanding  seem,  that  it  was  intolerable  he  should 
retain  it  a  moment  longer,  and  she  felt  almost 
desperate  enough  to  go  and  knock  at  his  door 
and  correct  it.  Far  too  clever  a  strategist  to  risk 
an  encounter  that  evening,  he  sat  in  his  room 
comfortably  smoking  and  attending  to  arrears  of 
correspondence,  aware  that  he  was  supposed  by 
her  to  be  sulking  desperately  all  the  while.  He 
knew  that  her  feeling  was  anger  and  not  grief,  and 
while,  had  it  been  the  latter,  he  would  have  been 
thoroughly  uncomfortable  from  sympathy,  he  only 
chuckled  as  he  figured  to  himself  her  indignation. 
At  that  very  moment,  she  was  undoubtedly  clench 
ing  her  pretty  little  fists,  and  breathing  fast  with 
impotent  wrath,  in  the  room  below.  Ah,  well,  let 


182  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

her  heart  lie  in  a  pickle  of  good  strong  disgust 
overnight,  and  it  would  strike  in  a  good  deal  more 
effectually  than  if  she  were  allowed  to  clear  her 
mind  by  an  indignant  explanation  on  the  spot. 

The  following  day  he  bore  himself  toward  her 
with  the  slightly  distant  air  of  one  who  considers 
himself  aggrieved,  and  attempted  no  approaches. 
In  the  evening,  which  was  her  first  opportunity, 
she  came  to  him  and  said  in  a  tone  in  which,  by 
this  time,  weariness  and  disgust  had  taken  the 
place  of  indignation  :  — 

"  You  were  absurdly  mistaken  in  thinking  that 
Miss  Roberts  was  trying  to  flirt "  — 

"  Bless  your  dear,  jealous  heart !  "  interrupted 
Hunt  laughingly,  with  an  air  of  patronizing  af 
fection.  "  I  'd  no  idea  you  minded  it  so  much. 
There,  there !  Let 's  not  allude  to  this  matter 
again.  No,  no  !  not  another  word !  "  he  gayly  in 
sisted,  putting  his  hand  over  her  mouth  as  she  was 
about  to  make  another  effort  to  be  heard. 

He  was  determined  not .  to  hear  anything,  and 
she  had  to  leave  it  so.  It  was  with  surprise  that 
she  observed  how  indifferently  she  finally  acqui 
esced  in  being  so  cruelly  misunderstood  by  him. 
In  the  deadened  state  of  her  feelings,  she  was  not 
then  able  to  appreciate  the  entire  change  in  the 
nature  of  her  sentiments  which  that  indifference 
showed.  Love,  though  rooted  in  the  past,  depends 
upon  the  surrounding  atmosphere  for  the  breath  of 
continued  life,  and  he  had  surrounded  her  with  the 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  183 

stifling  vapors  of  disgust  until  her  love  had  suc 
cumbed  and  withered.  She  found  that  his  exhi 
bitions  of  conceit  and  insipidity  did  not  affect  her 
in  the  same  way  as  before.  Her  sensations  were 
no  longer  sharp  and  poignant,  but  chiefly  a  dull 
shame  and  sense  of  disgrace  that  she  had  loved 
him.  She  met  his  attentions  with  a  coldly  passive 
manner,  which  gave  him  the  liveliest  satisfaction. 
The  cure  was  succeeding  past  all  expectation  ;  but 
he  had  about  time  for  one  more  stroke,  which 
would  make  a  sure  thing  of  it.  He  prepared  the 
way  by  dropping  hints  that  he  had  been  writing 
some  verses  of  late ;  and  finally,  with  the  evident 
idea  that  she  would  be  flattered,  gave  out  that  his 
favorite  theme  was  her  own  charms,  and  that  she 
might,  perhaps,  before  long  receive  some  tributes 
from  his  muse.  Her  protests  he  laughed  away  as 
the  affectations  of  modesty. 

Now  Hunt  had  never  actually  written  a  line  of 
verse  in  his  life,  and  had  no  intention  of  beginning. 
He  was  simply  preparing  a  grand  move.  From  the 
poet's  corner  of  rural  newspapers,  and  from  comic 
collections,  he  clipped  several  specimens  of  the  crud 
est  sort  of  sentimental  trash  in  rhyme.  These  he 
took  to  the  local  newspaper,  and  arranged  for  their 
insertion  at  double  advertising  rates.  A  few  days 
later,  he  bustled  into  the  parlor,  smirking  in  his 
most  odious  manner,  and,  coming  up  to  Annie, 
thrust  an  open  newspaper  before  her,  marked  in 
one  corner  to  call  attention  to  several  stanzas 


184  POTTS' S  PAINLESS  CURE 

"  Written  for  the  '  Express.' 
"  To  A E  G D." 

With  sinking  of  heart  she  took  the  paper,  after 
ineffectually  trying  to  refuse  it,  and  Hunt  sat  down 
before  her  with  a  supremely  complacent  expression, 
to  await  her  verdict.  With  a  faint  hope  that  the 
verses  might  prove  tolerable,  she  glanced  down  the 
lines.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  they  were  the  very 
worst  which  Hunt,  after  great  industry,  had  been 
able  to  find;  and  there  he  was  waiting,  just  the 
other  side  the  paper,  in  a  glow  of  expectant  vanity, 
to  receive  her  acknowledgments. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  You  need  n't 
try  to  hide  your  blushes.  You  deserve  every  word 
of  it,  you  know,  Miss  Modesty,"  he  said  gayly. 

"  It 's  very  nice,"  replied  Annie,  making  a  des 
perate  effort. 

"  I  thought  you  'd  like  it,"  he  said,  with  self- 
satisfied  assurance.  "  It 's  queer  that  a  fellow  can't 
lay  on  the  praise  too  thick  to  please  a  woman.  By 
the  way,  I  sent  around  a  copy  to  Miss  Roberts, 
signed  with  my  initials.  I  thought  you  'd  like  to 
have  her  see  it." 

This  last  remark  he  called  out  after  her  as  she 
was  leaving  the  room,  and  he  was  not  mistaken  in 
fancying  that  it  would  complete  her  demoraliza 
tion.  During  the  next  week  or  two  he  several 
times  brought  her  copies  of  the  local  paper  con 
taining  equally  execrable  effusions,  till  finally  she 
mustered  courage  to  tell  him  that  she  would  rather 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  185 

he  would  not  publish  any  more  verses  about  her. 
He  seemed  rather  hurt  at  this,  but  respected  her 
feelings,  and  after  that  she  used  to  find,  hid  in  her 
books  and  music,  manuscript  sonnets  which  he  had 
laboriously  copied  out  of  his  comic  collections.  It 
was  considerable  trouble,  but  on  the  whole  he  was 
inclined  to  think  it  paid,  and  it  did,  especially 
when  he  culminated  by  fitting  music  to  several  of 
the  most  mawkish  effusions,  and  insisting  on  her 
playing  and  singing  them  to  him.  As  the  poor 
girl,  who  felt  that  out  of  common  politeness  she 
could  not  refuse,  toiled  wearily  through  this  mar 
tyrdom,  writhing  with  secret  disgust  at  every  line, 
Hunt,  lolling  in  an  easy-chair  behind  her,  was  gen 
erally  indulging  in  a  series  of  horrible  grimaces 
and  convulsions  of  silent  laughter,  which  some 
times  left  tears  in  his  eyes,  —  to  convince  Annie, 
when  she  turned  around  to  him,  that  his  sentiment 
was  at  least  genuine  if  vulgar.  Had  she  happened 
on  one  of  these  occasions  to  turn  a  moment  before 
she  did,  the  resulting  tableau  would  have  been 
worth  seeing. 

Hunt  had  determined  to  both  crown  and  cru 
cially  test  the  triumph  of  Potts's  cure  in  Annie's 
case  by  formally  offering  himself  to  her.  He  cal 
culated  of  course  that  she  was  now  certain  to  reject 
him,  and  that  was  a  satisfaction  which  he  thought 
he  fairly  owed  her.  She  would  feel  better  for  it, 
he  argued,  and  be  more  absolutely  sure  not  to  re 
gard  herself  as  in  any  sense  jilted,  and  that  would 


186  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

make  his  conscience  clearer.  Yes,  she  should  cer 
tainly  have  his  scalp  to  hang  at  her  girdle,  for  he 
believed,  as  many  do,  that  next  to  having  a  man's 
heart  a  woman  enjoys  having  his  scalp,  while  many 
prefer  it.  Six  weeks  ago  he  would  have  been  hor 
rified  at  the  audacity  of  the  idea.  His  utmost  am 
bition  then  was  to  break  a  little  the  force  of  her 
disappointment  at  his  departure.  But  the  unex 
pected  fortune  that  had  attended  his  efforts  had 
advanced  his  standard  of  success,  until  nothing 
would  now  satisfy  him  but  to  pop  the  question  and 
be  refused. 

And  still,  as  the  day  approached  which  he  had 
set  for  the  desperate  venture,  he  began  to  get  very 
nervous.  He  thought  he  had  a  sure  thing  if.  ever 
a  fellow  had,  but  women  were  so  cursedly  unac 
countable.  Supposing  she  should  take  it  into  her 
head  to  accept  him  !  No  logic  could  take  account 
of  a  woman's  whimsies.  Then  what  a  pretty  fix 
he  would  have  got  himself  into,  just  by  a  foolhardy 
freak !  But  there  was  a  strain  of  Norse  blood  in 
Hunt,  and  in  spite  of  occasional  touches  of  ague, 
the  risk  of  the  scheme  had  in  itself  a  certain  fas 
cination  for  him.  And  yet  he  could  n't  help  wish 
ing  he  had  carried  out  a  dozen  desperate  devices 
for  disgusting  her  with  him,  which  at  the  time  had 
seemed  to  him  too  gross  to  be  safe  from  suspicion. 

The  trouble  was  that  since  he  loved  her  no  more 
he  had  lost  the  insight  which  love  only  gives  into 
the  feelings  of  another.  Then  her  every  touch  and 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  187 

look  and  word  was  eloquent  to  his  senses  as  to  the 
precise  state  of  her  feeling  toward  him,  but  now 
he  was  dull  and  insensitive  to  such  direct  intuition. 
He  could  not  longer  feel,  but  could  only  argue  as 
to  how  she  might  be  minded  toward  him,  and  this  it 
was  which  caused  him  so  much  trepidation,  in  spite 
of  so  many  reasons  why  he  should  be  confident  of 
the  result.  Argument  as  to  another's  feelings  is 
such  a  wretched  substitute  for  the  intuition  of  sym 
pathy. 

Finally,  on  the  evening  before  the  day  on  which 
he  was  to  offer  himself,  the  last  of  his  stay  at  the 
Giffords',  he  got  into  such  a  panic  that,  determined 
to  clinch  the  assurance  of  his  safety,  he  asked  her 
to  play  a  game  of  cards,  and  then  managed  that 
she  should  see  him  cheat  two  or  three  times.  The 
recollection  of  the  cold  disgust  on  her  face  as  he 
bade  her  good-evening  was  so  reassuring  that  he 
went  to  bed  and  slept  like  a  child,  in  the  implicit 
confidence  that  four  horses  could  n't  drag  that  girl 
into  an  engagement  with  him  the  next  day. 

It  was  not  till  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon 
that  he  could  catch  her  alone  long  enough  to  trans 
act  his  little  business  with  her.  Anticipating,  or 
at  least  apprehending  his  design,  she  took  the  great 
est  pains  to  avoid  meeting  him,  or  to  have  her  mo 
ther  with  her  when  she  did.  She  would  have  given 
almost  anything  to  escape  his  offer.  Of  course  she 
could  reject  it,  but  fastidious  persons  do  not  like 
to  have  unpleasant  objects  put  on  their  plates,  even 


188  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

if  they  have  not  necessarily  to  eat  them.  But  her 
special  reason  was  that  the  scene  would  freshly 
bring  up  and  emphasize  the  whole  wretched  history 
of  her  former  infatuation  and  its  miserable  ending, 
—  an  experience  every  thought  of  which  was  full 
of  shame  and  strong  desire  for  the  cleansing  of 
forgetfulness.  He  finally  cornered  her  in  the  par 
lor  alone.  As  she  saw  him  approaching  and  real 
ized  that  there  was  no  escape,  she  turned  and  faced 
him  with  her  small  figure  drawn  to  its  full  height, 
compressed  lips,  pale  face,  and  eyes  that  plainly 
said,  "  Now  have  it  over  with  as  soon  as  possible." 
One  hand  resting  on  the  table  was  clenched  over 
a  book.  The  other,  hanging  by  her  side,  tightly 
grasped  a  handkerchief. 

"  Do  you  know  I  Ve  been  trying  to  get  a  chance 
to  speak  with  you  alone  all  day  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Have  you  ?  "  she  replied  in  a  perfectly  inex 
pressive  tone. 

" Can't  you  guess  what  I  wanted  to  say?" 

"  I  'm  not  good  at  conundrums." 

"  I  see  you  will  not  help  me,"  he  went  on,  and 
then  added  quickly,  "  it 's  a  short  story ;  will  you 
be  my  wife  ?  " 

As  he  said  the  words,  he  felt  as  the  lion-tamer 
does  when  he  puts  his  head  in  the  lion's  jaws.  He 
expects  to  take  it  out  again,  but  if  the  lion  should 
take  a  notion  —  His  suspense  was,  however,  of 
the  shortest  possible  duration,  for  instantly,  like  a 
reviving  sprinkle  on  a  fainting  face,  the  words  fell 
on  his  ear :  — 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  189 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  honor,  but  I  'm  sure  we 
are  not  suited." 

Annie  had  conned  her  answer  on  many  a  sleep 
less  pillow,  and  had  it  by  heart.  It  came  so  glibly, 
although  in  such  a  constrained  and  agitated  voice, 
that  he  instantly  knew  it  must  have  been  long  cut 
and  dried. 

It  was  now  only  left  for  him  to  do  a  decent 
amount  of  urging,  and  then  acquiesce  with  digni 
fied  melancholy  and  go  off  laughing  in  his  sleeve. 
What  is  he  thinking  of  to  stand  there  gazing  at 
her  downcast  face  as  if  he  were  daft  ? 

A  strange  thing  had  happened  to  him.  The 
sweet  familiarity  of  each  detail  in  the  petite  figure 
before  him  was  impressing  his  mind  as  never  be 
fore,  now  that  he  had  achieved  his  purpose  of  put 
ting  it  beyond  the  possibility  of  his  own  possession. 
The  little  hands  he  had  held  so  often  in  the  old 
days,  conning  each  curve  and  dimple,  reckoning 
them  more  his  hands  than  were  his  own,  and  far 
more  dearly  so ;  the  wavy  hair  he  had  kissed  so 
fondly  and  delighted  to  touch ;  the  deep  dark  eyes 
under  their  long  lashes,  like  forest  lakes  seen 
through  environing  thickets,  eyes  that  he  had 
found  his  home  in  through  so  long  and  happy  a 
time,  —  why,  they  were  his  !  Of  course  he  had 
never  meant  to  really  forfeit  them,  to  lose  them, 
and  let  them  go  to  anybody  else.  The  idea  was 
preposterous,  —  was  laughable.  It  was  indeed  the 
first  time  it  had  occurred  to  him  in  that  light.  He 


190  POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE 

had  only  thought  of  her  as  losing  him  ;  scarcely  at 
all  of  himself  as  losing  her.  During  the  whole 
time  he  had  been  putting  himself  in  her  place  so 
constantly  that  he  had  failed  sufficiently  to  fully 
canvass  the  situation  from  his  own  point  of  view. 
Wholly  absorbed  in  estranging  her  from  him,  he 
had  done  nothing  to  estrange  himself  from  her. 

It  was  rather  with  astonishment  and  even  an 
appreciation  of  the  absurd,  than  any  serious  appre 
hension,  that  he  now  suddenly  saw  how  he  had 
stultified  himself,  and  come  near  doing  himself  a 
fatal  injury.  For  knowing  that  her  present  es 
trangement  was  wholly  his  work,  it  did  not  occur 
to  him  but  that  he  could  undo  it  as  easily  as  he 
had  done  it.  A  word  would  serve  the  purpose  and 
make  it  all  right  again.  Indeed,  his  revulsion  of 
feeling  so  altered  the  aspect  of  everything  that  he 
quite  forgot  that  any  explanation  at  all  was  neces 
sary,  and,  after  gazing  at  her  for  a  few  moments 
while  his  eyes,  wet  with  a  tenderness  new  and 
deliciously  sweet,  roved  fondly  from  her  head  to 
her  little  slipper,  doating  on  each  feature,  he  just 
put  out  his  arms  to  take  her  with  some  old  familiar 
phrase  of  love  on  his  lips. 

She  sprang  away,  her  eye  flashing  with  anger. 

He  looked  so  much  taken  aback  and  discomfited 
that  she  paused  in  mere  wonder,  as  she  was  about 
to  rush  from  the  room. 

"  Annie,  what  does  this  mean  ?  "  he  stammered. 
"  Oh,  yes,  —  why,  —  my  darling,  don't  you  know, 


POTTS'S  PAINLESS  CURE  191 

—  did  n't  you  guess,  —  it  was  all  a  joke,  —  a  stupid 
joke  ?  I  've  just  been  pretending." 

It  was  not  a  very  lucid  explanation,  but  she 
understood,  though  only  to  be  plunged  in  greater 
amazement. 

"But  what  for?"  she  murmured. 

"  I  did  n't  know  I  loved  you,"  he  said  slowly,  as 
if  recalling  with  difficulty,  and  from  a  great  dis 
tance,  his  motives,  "  and  I  thought  it  was  kind  to 
cure  you  of  your  love  for  me  by  pretending  to  be 
a  fool.  I  think  I  must  have  been  crazy,  don't 
you?  "  and  he  smiled  in  a  dazed,  deprecating  way. 

Her  face  from  being  very  pale  began  to  flush. 
First  a  red  spot  started  out  in  either  cheek ;  then 
they  spread  till  they  covered  the  cheeks ;  next  her 
forehead  took  a  roseate  hue,  and  down  her  neck  the 
tide  of  color  rushed,  and  she  stood  there  before  him 
a  glowing  statue  of  outraged  womanhood,  while  in 
the  midst  her  eyes  sparkled  with  scorn. 

"  You  wanted  to  cure  me,"  she  said  at  last,  in 
slow,  concentrated  tones,  "  and  you  have  succeeded. 
You  have  insulted  me  as  no  woman  was  ever  in 
sulted  before." 

She  paused  as  if  to  control  herself  ;  for  her  voice 
trembled  with  the  last  words.  She  shivered,  and 
her  bosom  heaved  once  or  twice  convulsively.  Her 
features  quivered ;  scorching  tears  of  shame  rushed 
to  her  eyes,  and  she  burst  out  hysterically :  — 

"  For  pity's  sake  never  let  me  see  you  again  ! " 

And  then  he  found  himself  alone. 


A  LOVE    STORY   REVERSED 


THE  golden  hands  of  the  parlor  clock  point  glim- 
meringly  to  an  hour  after  midnight,  and  the  house 
is  still.  The  gas  is  turned  almost  out,  but  the 
flickering  of  the  dying  sea-coal  fire  in  the  grate  fit 
fully  illumines  the  forms  and  faces  of  two  young 
women,  who  are  seated  before  it,  talking  earnestly 
in  low  tones.  It  is  apparent  from  their  costumes 
that  they  have  been  spending  the  evening  out. 

The  fair  girl  in  the  low  chair,  gazing  pensively 
into  the  fire,  is  Maud  Elliott,  the  daughter  of  the 
house.  Not  generally  called  handsome,  her  fea 
tures  are  good  and  well  balanced,  and  her  face  is 
altogether  a  sweet  and  wholesome  one.  She  is 
rather  tall,  and  the  most  critical  admit  that  she  has 
a  fine  figure.  Her  eyes  are  blue,  and  their  clear, 
candid  expression  indicates  an  unusually  sincere 
and  simple  character.  But,  unfortunately,  it  is 
only  her  friends  who  are  fully  conversant  with  the 
expression  of  her  eyes,  for  she  is  very  shy.  Shy 
ness  in  little  people  is  frequently  piquant,  but  its 
effect  in  girls  of  the  Juno  style  is  too  often  that 
of  awkwardness.  Her  friends  call  Maud  Elliott 
stately ;  those  who  do  not  like  her  call  her  stiff ; 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  193 

while  indifferent  persons  speak  of  her  as  rather  too 
reserved  and  dignified  in  manner  to  be  pleasing. 
In  fact,  her  excess  of  dignity  is  merely  the  cloak 
of  her  shyness,  and  nobody  knows  better  than  she 
that  there  is  too  much  of  it.  Those  who  know  her 
at  all  well  know  that  she  is  not  dull,  but  with  mere 
acquaintances  she  often  passes  for  that.  Only  her 
intimate  friends  are  aware  what  wit  and  intelli 
gence,  what  warmth  and  strength  of  feeling,  her 
coldness  when  in  company  conceals. 

No  one  better  understands  this,  because  no  one 
knows  her  better  or  has  known  her  longer,  than 
her  present  companion  before  the  fire,  Lucy  Mer- 
ritt.  They  were  roommates  and  bosom  friends  at 
boarding-school ;  and  Lucy,  who  recently  has  been 
married,  is  now  on  her  first  visit  to  her  friend  since 
that  event.  She  is  seated  on  a  hassock,  with  her 
hands  clasped  over  her  knees,  looking  up  at  Maud, 
—  an  attitude  well  suited  to  her  petite  figure.  She 
is  going  home  on  the  morrow,  or  rather  on  the 
day  already  begun ;  and  this  fact,  together  with 
the  absorbing  nature  of  the  present  conversation, 
accounts  for  the  lateness  of  the  session. 

"  And  so,  Maud,"  she  is  saying,  while  she  regards 
her  friend  with  an  expression  at  once  sympathetic 
and  amused, —  "  and  so  that  is  what  has  been  mak 
ing  your  letters  so  dismal  lately.  I  fancied  that 
nothing  less  could  suggest  such  melancholy  views 
of  life.  The  truth  is,  I  came  on  this  visit  as  much 
as  anything  to  find  out  about  him.  He  is  a  good- 
looking  fellow,  certainly ;  and,  from  what  little 


194  A   LOVE   STORY   REVERSED 

chance  I  had  to  form  an  opinion  to-night,  seems 
sensible  enough  to  make  it  quite  incredible  that  he 
should  not  be  in  love  with  such  a  girl  in  a  thou 
sand  as  you.  Are  you  quite  sure  he  isn't?" 

"  You  had  a  chance  to  judge  to-night,"  replied 
Maud,  with  a  hard  little  laugh.  "  You  overheard 
our  conversation.  4  Good-evening,  Miss  Elliott ; 
jolly  party,  is  n't  it  ?  '  That  was  all  he  had  to  say 
to  me,  and  quite  as  much  as  usual.  Of  course  we 
are  old  acquaintances,  and  he  's  always  pleasant 
and  civil :  he  could  n't  be  anything  else ;  but  he 
wastes  mighty  little  time  on  me.  I  don't  blame 
him  for  preferring  other  girls'  society.  He  would 
show  very  little  taste  if  he  did  not  enjoy  Ella 
Perry's  company  better  than  that  of  a  tongue-tied 
thing  like  me.  She  is  a  thousand  times  prettier 
and  wittier  and  more  graceful  than  I  am." 

"  Nonsense,"  exclaimed  Lucy.  "  She  is  a  flirt 
and  a  conceited  little  minx.  She  is  not  to  be  men 
tioned  the  same  day  with  you ;  and  he  would  think 
so,  if  he  could  only  get  to  know  you.  But  how  in 
the  world  is  he  ever  going  to  ?  Why,  you  seem  to 
be  shyer  than  ever,  poor  dear.  You  were  actually 
distant,  almost  chilling,  in  your  manner  towards 
him  to-night,  although  I  know  you  didn't  mean 
to  be." 

"  I  know  it.  Don't  I  know  it !  "  groaned  Maud. 
"  I  always  am  shyer  and  stiifer  with  him  than  with 
any  one  else.  O  Lucy!  you  can't  guess  what  a 
dreadful  thing  it  is  to  be  shy.  It  is  as  if  you  were 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  195 

surrounded  by  a  fog,  which  benumbs  you,  and  chills 
all  who  approach  you.  I  dare  say  he  thinks  that  I 
actually  dislike  him.  I  could  not  blame  him  if  he 
did.  And  I  can't  help  it.  I  could  never  .make 
him  understand  anything  else,  unless  I  told  him  in 
so  many  words." 

The  tears  filled  her  eyes  as  she  spoke,  and  hung 
heavy  on  the  lashes.  Lucy  took  one  of  her  hands 
in  both  of  hers,  and  pressed  and  stroked  it  caress 
ingly. 

"  I  know  you  could  n't,  poor  dear,  I  know  you 
could  n't,"  she  said  ;  "  and  you  cannot  tell  him  in 
so  many  words  because,  forsooth,  you  are  a  woman. 
I  often  think,  Maud,  what  a  heap  of  trouble  would 
be  saved  if  women,  when  they  cannot  make  them 
selves  understood  in  other  ways,  were  allowed  to 
speak  out  as  men  do,  without  fear  or  reproach. 
Some  day  they  will,  when  the  world  gets  wiser,  — 
at  least  I  think  so.  Why  should  a  woman  have 
to  hide  her  love,  as  if  it  were  a  disgraceful  secret  ? 
Why  is  it  any  more  a  disgrace  to  her  than  to  a 
man?" 

"  I  can't  quite  see  what  good  it  would  do  me," 
said  Maud,  "  even  if  women  could  '  speak  out,'  as 
you  say.  If  a  man  did  n't  care  for  one  already,  I 
can't  see  how  it  would  make  him  know  that  one 
cared  for  him.  I  should  think  she  would  prefer  to 
keep  her  secret." 

"  That  is  n't  what  men  do,"  replied  Lucy.  "  If 
they  have  such  a  secret,  they  tell  it  right  away,  and 


196  A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED 

that  is  why  they  succeed.  The  way  half  the  women 
are  induced  to  fall  in  love  is  by  being  told  the  men 
are  in  love  with  them  ;  you  know  that." 

"  But  men  are  different,"  suggested  Maud. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it :  they  're  more  so,  if  anything," 
was  the  oracular  response  of  the  young  wife. 
"  Possibly  there  are  men,"  she  continued,  —  "  the 
story-tellers  say  so,  anyhow,  —  who  are  attracted 
by  repulsion  and  warmed  by  coldness,  who  like  re 
sistance  for  the  pleasure  of  overcoming  it.  There 
must  be  a  spice  of  the  tyrant  in  such  men.  I 
wouldn't  want  to  marry  one  of  them.  Fortu 
nately,  they  're  not  common.  I  've  noticed  that 
love,  like  lightning,  generally  takes  the  path  of 
least  resistance  with  men  as  well  as  women.  Just 
suppose  now,  in  your  case,  that  Mr.  Burton  had 
followed  us  home,  and  had  overheard  this  conver 
sation  from  behind  that  door." 

"  No,  no,"  she  added  laughing,  as  Maud  looked 
around  apprehensively  ;  "  he  is  n't  there.  But  if 
he  had  been  there  and  had  overheard  you  own  that 
you  were  pining  for  him',  what  a  lucky  chance  it 
would  have  been !  If  he,  or  any  other  man,  once 
knew  that  a  magnificent  girl  like  you  had  done  him 
the  honor  to  fall  in  love  with  him,  half  the  battle 
would  be  won,  or  I  'm  no  judge  of  men.  But  such 
lucky  eavesdropping  only  happens  in  stories  and 
plays ;  and  for  lack  of  it  this  youth  is  in  a  fair  way 
to  marry  a  chit  of  a  girl  who  does  not  think  half 
so  much  of  him  as  you  do,  and  of  whom  he  will 


A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED  197 

never  think  a  quarter  what  he  would  of  you.  He 
is  not,  probably,  entirely  stupid  either.  All  he 
wants,  very  likely,  is  just  a  hint  as  to  where  his 
true  happiness  lies  :  but,  being  a  woman,  you  can't 
give  it  in  words ;  and,  being  Maud  Elliott,  you 
can't  give  it  in  any  other  way,  if  you  died  for  it. 
Really,  Maud,  the  canon  which  makes  it  a  woman's 
duty  to  be  purely  passive  in  love  is  exasperating, 
especially  as  it  does  not  represent  what  anybody 
really  believes,  but  only  what  they  pretend  to 
believe.  Everybody  knows  that  unrequited  love 
comes  as  often  to  women  as  to  men.  Why,  then, 
should  n't  they  have  an  equal  chance  to  seek  re 
quital  ?  Why  have  not  they  the  same  right  to 
look  out  for  the  happiness  of  their  lives  by  all  hon 
orable  means  that  men  have  ?  Surely  it  is  far  more 
to  them  to  marry  the  men  they  love  than  to  a  man 
to  marry  any  particular  woman.  It  seems  to  me 
that  making  suitable  matches  is  not  such  an  easy 
matter  that  society  can  afford  to  leave  the  chief 
part  of  it  to  the  stupider  sex,  giving  women  merely 
the  right  of  veto.  To  be  sure,  even  now  women 
who  are  artful  enough  manage  to  evade  the  pro 
hibition  laid  on  their  lips  and  make  their  prefer 
ence  known.  I  am  proud  to  say  that  I  have  a  royal 
husband,  who  would  never  have  looked  my  way  if 
I  had  not  set  out  to  make  him  do  so  ;  and  if  I  do 
say  it,  who  should  n't,  I  flatter  myself  he  has  a 
better  wife  than  he  could  have  picked  out  without 
my  help.  There  are  plenty  of  women  who  can  say 


198  A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED 

the  same  thing ;  but,  unluckily,  it  is  the  best  sort 
of  women,  girls  like  you,  —  simple,  sincere,  noble, 
without  arts  of  any  sort,  —  who  can't  do  this.  On 
them  the  etiquette  that  forbids  women  to  reveal 
their  hearts  except  by  subterfuge  operates  as  a 
total  disability.  They  can  only  sit  with  folded 
hands,  looking  on,  pretending  not  to  mind,  while 
their  husbands  are  run  away  with  by  others." 

Maud  took  up  the  poker  and  carefully  arranged 
the  coals  under  the  grate  in  a  heap.  Then  she 
said  :  "  Suppose  a  girl  did  what  you  Ve  been  speak 
ing  of.  I  mean,  suppose  she  really  said  such  a 
thing  to  a  man,  —  said  that  she  cared  for  him,  or 
anything  like  that,  —  what  do  you  suppose  he 
would  think  of  her  ?  Don't  you  fancy  she  would 
be  in  danger  of  making  him  think  very  cheaply  of 
her?" 

"  If  she  thought  he  were  that  kind  of  a  man," 
replied  Lucy,  "  I  can't  understand  her  ever  falling 
in  love  with  him.  Of  course,  I  'm  not  saying  that 
he  would  necessarily  respond  by  falling  in  love 
with  her.  She  would  have  to  take  her  chance  of 
that ;  but  I  'm  sure,  if  he  were  a  gentleman,  she 
need  have  no  fear  of  his  thinking  unworthily  of 
her.  If  I  had  spoken  to  Dick  in  that  way,  even 
if  he  had  never  wanted  to  marry  me,  I  know  he 
would  have  had  a  soft  spot  for  me  in  his  heart 
all  the  rest  of  his  life,  out  of  which  even  his  wife 
would  not  have  quite  crowded  me.  Why,  how  do 
we  think  of  men  whom  we  have  refused  ?  Do  we 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  199 

despise  them  ?  Do  we  ridicule  them  ?  Some  girls 
may,  but  they  are  not  ladies.  A  low  fellow  might 
laugh  at  a  woman  who  revealed  a  fondness  for  him 
which  he  did  not  return ;  but  a  gentleman,  never. 
Her  secret  would  be  safe  with  him." 

"  Girls !  "  It  was  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Elliott  speak 
ing  from  the  upper  hall.  "  Do  you  know  how  late 
it  is  ?  It  is  after  one  o'clock." 

"  I  suppose  we  might  as  well  go  to  bed,"  said 
Lucy.  "  There  's  no  use  sitting  up  to  wait  for 
women  to  get  their  rights.  They  won't  get  them 
to-night,  I  dare  say  ;  though,  mark  my  word,  some 
day  they  will." 

"  This  affair  of  yours  may  come  out  all  right 
yet,"  she  said  hopefully,  as  they  went  upstairs  to 
gether.  "  If  it  does  not,  you  can  console  yourself 
with  thinking  that  people  in  general,  and  especially 
girls,  never  know  what  is  good  for  them  till  after 
ward.  Do  you  remember  that  summer  I  was  at 
the  beach,  what  a  ninny  I  made  of  myself  over 
that  little  Mr.  Parker  ?  How  providential  it  was 
for  me  that  he  did  not  reciprocate.  It  gives  me 
the  cold  shivers  when  I  think  what  might  have 
become  of  me  if  he  had  proposed." 

At  the  door  of  her  room  Lucy  said  again :  "  Re 
member,  you  are  to  come  to  me  in  New  York  for  a 
long  visit  soon.  Perhaps  you  will  find  there  are 
other  people  in  the  world  then." 

Maud  smiled  absently,  and  kissed  her  good-night. 
She  seemed  preoccupied,  and  did  not  appear  to 


200  A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED 

have  closely  followed  what  her  lively  friend  was 
saying. 

The  following  afternoon,  as  she  was  walking 
home  after  seeing  Lucy  on  the  cars,  she  met  a  gen 
tleman  who  lifted  his  hat  to  her.  It  was  Arthur 
Burton.  His  office  was  on  the  one  main  street  of 
the  small  New  England  city  which  is  the  scene  of 
these  events,  and  when  out  walking  or  shopping 
Maud  often  met  him.  There  was  therefore  nothing 
at  all  extraordinary  in  the  fact  of  their  meeting. 
What  was  extraordinary  was  its  discomposing  ef 
fect  upon  her  on  this  particular  afternoon.  She 
had  been  absorbed  a  moment  before  in  a  particu 
larly  brown  study,  taking  no  more  notice  of  sur 
rounding  objects  and  persons  than  was  necessary 
to  avoid  accidents.  On  seeing  him  she  started  per 
ceptibly,  and  forthwith  became  a  striking  study 
in  red.  She  continued  to  blush  so  intensely  after 
he  had  passed  that,  catching  sight  of  her  crimson 
cheeks  in  a  shop  window,  she  turned  down  a  side 
street  and  took  a  quieter  way  home. 

There  was  nothing  particularly  remarkable  about 
Arthur  Burton.  Fortunately  there  does  not  need 
to  be  anything  remarkable  about  young  men  to  in 
duce  very  charming  girls  to  fall  in  love  with  them. 
He  was  just  a  good-looking  fellow,  with  agreeable 
manners  and  average  opinions.  He  was  regarded 
as  a  very  promising  young  man,  and  was  quite  a 
favorite  among  the  young  ladies.  If  he  noticed 
Maud's  confusion  on  meeting  him,  he  certainly  did 


A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED  201 

not  think  of  associating  it  in  any  way  with  himself. 
For  although  they  had  been  acquaintances  these 
many  years,  and  belonged  to  the  same  social  set, 
he  had  never  entertained  the  first  sentimental  fancy 
concerning  her.  So  far  as  she  had  impressed  him 
at  all,  it  was  as  a  thoroughly  nice  girl,  of  a  good 
family,  not  bad-looking,  but  rather  dull  in  society, 
and  with  very  little  facility  in  conversation  ;  at 
least  he  had  always  found  it  hard  to  talk  with  her. 

Ten  days  or  a  fortnight  after  Lucy  Merritt's  de 
parture  there  was  a  little  party  at  Ella  Perry's,  and 
both  Arthur  Burton  and  Maud  were  present.  It 
was  the  custom  of  the  place  for  the  young  men  to 
escort  the  girls  home  after  evening  entertainments, 
and  when  the  couples  were  rightly  assorted,  the  walk 
home  was  often  the  most  agreeable  part  of  the 
evening.  Although  they  were  not  engaged,  Arthur 
imagined  that  he  was  in  love  with  Ella  Perry,  and 
she  had  grown  into  the  habit  of  looking  upon  him 
as  her  particular  knight.  Towards  the  end  of  the 
evening  he  jestingly  asked  her  whom  he  should  go 
home  with,  since  he  could  not  that  evening  be  her 
escort. 

"  Maud  Elliott,"  promptly  suggested  Ella,  select 
ing  the  girl  of  those  present  in  her  opinion  least 
likely  to  prove  a  diverting  companion.  So  it 
chanced  that  Arthur  offered  his  company  to  Maud. 

It  struck  him,  as  she  came  downstairs  with  her 
wraps  on,  that  she  was  looking  remarkably  pale. 
She  had  worn  a  becoming  color  during  the  even- 


202  A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED 

ing,  but  she  seemed  to  have  lost  it  in  the  dressing- 
room.  As  they  walked  away  from  the  house  Arthur 
began,  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  to  make  himself 
agreeable,  but  with  very  poor  success.  Not  only 
was  Maud,  as  usual,  a  feeble  contributor  of  ori 
ginal  matter,  but  her  random  answers  showed  that 
she  paid  little  attention  to  what  he  was  saying. 
He  was  mentally  registering  a  vow  never  again  to 
permit  himself  to  be  committed  to  a  tete-a-tete 
with  her,  when  she  abruptly  broke  the  silence 
which  had  succeeded  his  conversational  efforts. 
Her  voice  was  curiously  unsteady,  and  she  seemed 
at  first  to  have  some  difficulty  in  articulating,  and 
had  to  go  back  and  repeat  her  first  words.  What 
she  said  was :  — 

"  It  was  very  good  in  you  to  come  home  with  me 
to-night.  It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  me." 

"  You  're  ironical  this  evening,  Miss  Elliott," 
he  replied,  laughing,  and  the  least  bit  nettled. 

It  was  bore  enough  doing  the  polite  to  a  girl 
who  had  nothing  on  her  mind  without  being  gibed 
by  her  to  boot. 

"  I  'm  not  ironical,"  she  answered.  "  I  should 
make  poor  work  at  irony.  I  meant  just  what  I 
said." 

"  The  goodness  was  on  your  part  in  letting  me 
come,"  he  said,  mollified  by  the  unmistakable  sin 
cerity  of  her  tone,  but  somewhat  embarrassed 
withal  at  the  decidedly  flat  line  of  remark  she  had 
chosen. 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  203 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied ;  "  the  goodness  was  not 
on  my  side.  I  was  only  too  glad  of  your  company, 
and  might  as  well  own  it.  Indeed,  I  will  confess 
to  telling  a  fib  to  one  young  man  who  offered  to 
see  me  home,  merely  because  I  hoped  the  idea  of 
doing  so  would  occur  to  you." 

This  plump  admission  of  partiality  for  his  society 
fairly  staggered  Arthur.  Again  he  thought,  "  She 
must  be  quizzing  me ; "  and,  to  make  sure,  stole 
a  sidelong  glance  at  her.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
straight  ahead,  and  the  pallor  and  the  tense  ex 
pression  of  her  face  indicated  that  she  was  labor 
ing  under  strong  excitement.  She  certainly  did 
not  look  like  one  in  a  quizzing  mood. 

"  I  am  very  much  flattered,"  he  managed  to  say. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  feel  so  or  not,"  she 
replied.  "I'm  afraid  you  don't  feel  flattered  at 
all,  but  I  —  I  wanted  to  —  tell  you." 

The  pathetic  tremor  of  her  voice  lent  even 
greater  significance  to  her  words  than  in  them 
selves  they  would  have  conveyed. 

She  was  making  a  dead  set  at  him.  There  was 
not  a  shadow  of  doubt  any  longer  about  that.  As 
the  full  realization  of  his  condition  flashed  upon 
him,  entirely  alone  with  her  and  a  long  walk  be 
fore  them,  the  strength  suddenly  oozed  out  of  his 
legs,  he  felt  distinctly  cold  about  the  spine,  and 
the  perspiration  started  out  on  his  forehead.  His 
tongue  clung  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  and  he  could 
only  abjectly  wonder  what  was  coming  next.  It 


204  A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED 

appeared  that  nothing  more  was  coming.  A  dead 
silence  lasted  for  several  blocks.  Every  block 
seemed  to  Arthur  a  mile  long,  as  if  he  were  walk 
ing  in  a  hasheesh  dream.  He  felt  that  she  was  ex 
pecting  him  to  say  something,  to  make  some  sort 
of  response  to  her  advances ;  but  what  response, 
in  Heaven's  name,  could  he  make!  He  really 
could  not  make  love.  He  had  none  to  make  ;  and 
had  never  dreamed  of  making  any  to  Maud  Elliott, 
of  all  girls.  Yet  the  idea  of  letting  her  suppose 
him  such  an  oaf  as  not  to  understand  her,  or  not  to 
appreciate  the  honor  a  lady's  preference  did  him, 
was  intolerable.  He  could  not  leave  it  so. 

Finally,  with  a  vague  idea  of  a  compromise  be 
tween  the  impossible  alternative  of  making  love  to 
her,  which  he  could  n't,  and  seeming  an  insensible 
boor,  which  he  would  n't,  he  laid  his  disengaged 
hand  upon  hers  as  it  rested  on  his  arm.  It  was 
his  intention  to  apply  to  it  a  gentle  pressure,  which, 
while  committing  him  to  nothing,  might  tend  to 
calm  her  feelings  and  by  its  vaguely  reassuring 
influence  help  to  stave  off  a  crisis  for  the  remainder 
of  their  walk.  He  did  not,  however,  succeed  in 
carrying  out  the  scheme ;  for  at  the  moment  of 
contact  her  hand  eluded  his,  as  quicksilver  glides 
from  the  grasp.  There  was  no  hint  of  coquettish 
hesitation  in  its  withdrawal.  She  snatched  it 
away  as  if  his  touch  had  burned  her ;  and  although 
she  did  not  at  the  same  time  wholly  relinquish 
his  arm,  that  was  doubtless  to  avoid  making  the 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  205 

situation,  on   the   street   as  they  were,   too   awk 
ward. 

A  moment  before  only  concerned  to  evade  her 
apparent  advances,  Arthur  found  himself  in  the 
position  of  one  under  rebuke  for  offering  an  un 
warranted  familiarity  to  a  lady.  There  was  no 
question  that  he  had  utterly  misconstrued  her  pre 
vious  conduct.  It  was  very  strange  that  he  could 
have  been  such  a  fool ;  but  he  was  quite  too  dazed 
to  disentangle  the  evidence  just  then,  and  there 
was  no  doubt  about  the  fact. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  stammered,  too  much  over 
come  with  confusion  and  chagrin  to  be  able  to 
judge  whether  it  would  have  been  better  to  be 
silent. 

The  quickness  with  which  the  reply  came  showed 
that  she  had  been  on  the  point  of  speaking  her 
self. 

"  You  need  not  ask  my  pardon,"  she  said.  Her 
tones  quivered  with  excitement  and  her  utterance 
was  low  and  swift.  "  I  don't  blame  you  in  the 
least,  after  the  way  I  have  talked  to  you  to-night. 
But  I  did  not  mean  that  you  should  think  lightly 
of  me.  I  have  said  nothing  right,  nothing  that  I 
meant  to.  What  I  wanted  to  have  you  under 
stand  was  that  I  care  for  you  very  much."  Her 
voice  broke  here,  but  she  caught  her  breath  and 
went  right  on.  "I  wanted  you  to  know  it  some 
how,  and  since  I  could  not  make  you  know  it  by 
ways  clever  girls  might,  I  thought  I  would  tell 


206  A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED 

you  plainly.  It  really  amounts  to  the  same  thing  ; 
don't  you  think  so  ?  and  I  know  you  '11  keep  my 
secret.  You  need  n't  say  anything.  I  know  you  've 
nothing  to  say  and  may  never  have.  That  makes 
no  difference.  You  owe  me  nothing  merely  be 
cause  I  care  for  you.  Don't  pity  me.  I  'm  not 
so  much  ashamed  as  you  'd  suppose.  It  all  seems 
so  natural  when  it's  once  said.  You  needn't  be 
afraid  of  me.  I  shall  never  say  this  again  or 
trouble  you  at  all.  Only  be  a  little  good  to  me ; 
that 'sail." 

She  delivered  this  little  speech  almost  in  one 
breath,  with  headlong,  explosive  utterance,  as  if  it 
were  something  she  had  to  go  through  with,  cost 
what  it  might,  and  only  wanted  somehow  to  get 
out  the  words,  regardless,  for  the  time,  of  their 
manner  or  effect.  She  ended  with  an  hysterical 
sob,  and  Arthur  felt  her  hand  tremble  on  his  arm 
as  she  struggled  with  an  emotion  that  threatened 
to  overcome  her.  But  it  was  over  almost  instantly  ; 
and  without  giving  him  a  chance  to  speak,  she 
exclaimed,  with  an  entire  alteration  of  tone  and 
manner :  — 

"  Did  you  see  that  article  in  the  4  Gazette  '  this 
morning  about  the  craze  for  collecting  pottery 
which  has  broken  out  in  the  big  cities  ?  Do  you 
suppose  it  will  reach  here  ?  What  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

Now  it  was  perfectly  true,  as  she  had  told  him, 
that  Arthur  had  nothing  whatever  to  say  in  re- 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  207 

sponse  to  the  declaration  she  had  made ;  but  all 
the  same  it  is  possible,  if  she  had  not  just  so 
abruptly  diverted  the  conversation,  that  he  would 
then  and  there  have  placed  himself  and  all  his 
worldly  goods  at  her  disposal.  He  would  have 
done  this,  although  five  minutes  before  he  had  had 
no  more  notion  of  marrying  her  than  the  Emperor 
of  China's  daughter,  merely  because  every  manly 
instinct  cried  out  against  permitting  a  nice  girl 
to  protest  her  partiality  for  him  without  meeting 
her  half-way.  Afterward,  when  he  realized  how 
near  he  had  come  to  going  over  the  verge  of  matri 
mony,  it  was  with  such  reminiscent  terror  as  chills 
the  blood  of  the  awakened  sleep-walker  looking  up 
at  the  dizzy  ridge-pole  he  has  trodden  with  but  a 
hair's  breadth  between  him  and  eternity. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  way  to  Maud's 
door  the  conversation  upon  pottery,  the  weather, 
and  miscellaneous  topics  was  incessant,  —  almost 
breathless,  in  fact.  Arthur  did  not  know  what  he 
was  talking  about,  and  Maud  probably  no  better 
what  she  was  saying,  but  there  was  not  a  moment's 
silence.  A  stranger  meeting  them  would  have 
thought,  "  What  a  remarkably  jolly  couple  !  " 

"  I  'm  much  obliged  for  your  escort,"  said  Maud, 
as  she  stood  upon  her  doorstep* 

"  Not  at  all.     Great  pleasure,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Good-evening." 

"  Good-evening."  And  she  disappeared  within 
the  door. 


208  A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED 

Arthur  walked  away  with  a  slow,  mechanical 
step.  His  fallen  jaw,  open  mouth,  and  generally 
idiotic  expression  of  countenance  would  have  jus 
tified  his  detention  by  any  policeman  who  might 
have  met  him,  on  suspicion  of  being  a  feeble-minded 
person  escaped  from  custody.  Turning  the  first 
corner,  he  kept  on  with  the  same  dragging  step  till 
he  came  to  a  vacant  lot.  Then,  as  if  he  were  too 
feeble  to  get  any  farther,  he  stopped  and  leaned 
his  back  against  the  fence.  Bracing  his  legs  be 
fore  him  so  as  to  serve  as  props,  he  thrust  his 
hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  and  raising  his  eyes 
appealingly  to  the  stars,  ejaculated,  "  Proposed  to, 
by  Jove ! "  A  period  of  profound  introspection 
followed,  and  then  he  broke  forth :  "  Well,  I  '11 
be  hanged !  "  emphasizing  each  word  with  a  slow 
nod.  Then  he  began  to  laugh,  —  not  noisily ; 
scarcely  audibly,  indeed ;  but  with  the  deep,  unc 
tuous  chuckle  of  one  who  gloats  over  some  exqui 
sitely  absurd  situation,  some  jest  of  many  facets, 
each  contributing  its  ray  of  humor. 

Yet,  if  this  young  man  had  tremblingly  con 
fessed  his  love  to  a  lady,  he  would  have  expected 
her  to  take  it  seriously. 

Nevertheless,  let  us  not  be  too  severe  with  him 
for  laughing.  It  was  what  the  average  young  man 
probably  would  have  done  under  similar  circum 
stances,  and  it  was  particularly  stated  at  the  outset 
that  there  was  nothing  at  all  extraordinary  about 
Arthur  Burton.  For  the  rest,  it  was  not  a  wholly 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  209 

bad  symptom.  Had  he  been  a  conceited  fellow, 
he  very  likely  would  not  have  laughed.  He  would 
have  stroked  his  mustache  and  thought  it  quite 
natural  that  a  woman  should  fall  in  love  with  him, 
and  even  would  have  felt  a  pity  for  the  poor  thing. 
It  was,  in  fact,  because  he  was  not  vain  that  he 
found  the  idea  so  greatly  amusing. 

On  parting  with  Arthur,  Maud  rushed  upstairs 
and  locked  herself  in  her  room.  She  threw  her 
self  into  the  first  chair  she  stumbled  over  in  the 
dimly  lighted  apartment,  and  sat  there  motionless, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  empty  air  with  an  expression 
of  desperation,  her  hands  clinched  so  tightly  that 
the  nails  bit  the  palms.  She  breathed  only  at  con 
siderable  intervals,  with  short,  quick  inhalations. 

Yet  the  act  which  caused  this  extraordinary  re 
vulsion  of  feeling  had  not  been  the  result  of  any 
sudden  impulse.  It  was  the  execution  of  a  delib 
erate  resolve  which  had  originated  in  her  mind  on 
the  night  of  Lucy  Merritt's  departure,  as  she  sat 
with  her  before  the  fire,  listening  to  her  fanciful 
talk  about  the  advantages  which  might  be  expected 
to  attend  franker  relations  in  love  affairs  between 
men  and  women.  Deeply  in  love,  and  at  the  same 
time  feeling  that  in  the  ordinary  course  of  events 
she  had  nothing  but  disappointment  to  look  for 
ward  to,  she  was  in  a  state  of  mind  just  desperate 
enough  to  catch  at  the  idea  that  if  Arthur  Burton 
knew  of  her  love,  there  would  be  some  chance  of 
his  returning  it.  It  seemed  to  her  that  if  he  did 


210  A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED 

not,  she  could  be  no  worse  off  than  she  was  already. 
She  had  brooded  over  the  subject  day  and  night 
ever  since,  considering  from  every  point  of  view  of 
abstract  right  or  true  feminine  propriety  the  ques 
tion  whether  a  woman  might,  without  real  preju 
dice  to  her  maidenly  modesty,  tell  a  man  that  she 
cared  for  him,  without  waiting  for  him  to  ask  her 
to  marry  him.  Her  conclusion  had  been  that  there 
was  no  reason,  apart  from  her  own  feelings,  why 
any  woman,  who  dared  do  it,  should  not ;  and  if 
she  thought  her  life's  happiness  dependent  on  her 
doing  it,  that  she  would  be  a  weak  creature  who 
did  not  dare. 

Her  resolve  once  taken,  she  had  only  waited 
an  opportunity  to  carry  it  out;  and  that  evening, 
when  Arthur  offered  to  walk  home  with  her,  she 
felt  that  the  opportunity  had  come.  Little  wonder 
that  she  came  downstairs  from  the  dressing-room 
looking  remarkably  pale,  and  that  after  they  had 
started,  and  she  was  trying  to  screw  up  her  courage 
to  the  speaking  point,  her  responses  to  his  conver 
sational  efforts  should  have  been  at  random.  It 
was  terribly  hard  work,  this  screwing  up  her  cour 
age.  All  the  fine  arguments  which  had  convinced 
her  that  her  intended  course  was  justifiable  and 
right  had  utterly  collapsed.  She  could  not  recall  one 
of  them.  What  she  had  undertaken  to  do  seemed 
shocking,  hateful,  immodest,  scandalous,  impossible. 
But  there  was  a  bed-rock  of  determination  to  her 
character ;  and  a  fixed,  dogged  resolve  to  do  the 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  211 

tiling  she  had  once  made  up  her  mind  to,  come 
what  might,  had  not  permitted  her  to  draw  back. 
Hardly  knowing  what  she  was  about,  or  the  words 
she  was  saying,  she  had  plunged  blindly  ahead. 
Somehow  she  had  got  through  with  it,  and  now  she 
seemed  to  herself  to  be  sitting  amidst  the  ruins  of 
her  womanhood. 

It  was  particularly  remarked  that  Arthur  Bur 
ton's  laughter,  as  he  leaned  against  the  fence  a 
square  away  in  convulsions  of  merriment,  was  noise 
less,  but  it  was  perfectly  audible  to  Maud,  as  she 
sat  in  the  darkness  of  her  chamber.  Nay,  more : 
although  his  thoughts  were  not  uttered  at  all,  she 
overheard  them,  and  among  them  some  which  the 
young  man,  to  do  him  justice,  had  the  grace  not  to 
think. 

The  final  touch  to  her  humiliation  was  imparted 
by  the  reflection  that  she  had  done  the  thing  so 
stupidly,  —  so  blunderingly.  If  she  must  needs  tell 
a  man  she  loved  him,  could  she  not  have  told  him 
in  language  which  at  least  would  have  been  forcible 
and  dignified  ?  Instead  of  that,  she  had  begun  with 
mawkish  compliments,  unable  in  her  excitement  to 
think  of  anything  else,  and  ended  with  an  incoher 
ent  jumble  that  barely  escaped  being  hysterical. 
He  would  think  that  she  was  as  lacking  in  sense 
as  in  womanly  self-respect.  At  last  she  turned  up 
the  gas,  for  very  shame  avoiding  a  glimpse  of  her 
self  in  the  mirror  as  she  did  so,  and  bathed  her 
burning  cheeks. 


212  A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED 

II 

Meanwhile  Arthur  had  reached  home  and  was 
likewise  sitting  in  his  room,  thinking  the  matter 
over  from  his  point  of  view,  with  the  assistance  of 
a  long-stemmed  pipe.  But  instead  of  turning  the 
gas  down,  as  Maud  had  done,  he  had  turned  it  up, 
and,  having  lighted  all  the  jets  in  the  room,  had 
planted  his  chair  directly  in  front  of  the  big  look 
ing-glass,  so  that  he  might  enjoy  the  reflection  of 
his  own  amusement  and  be  doubly  entertained. 

By  this  time,  however,  amazement  and  amuse 
ment  had  passed  their  acute  stages.  He  was  con 
sidering  somewhat  more  seriously,  but  still  with 
frequent  attacks  of  mirth,  the  practical  aspects  of 
the  predicament  in  which  Maud's  declaration  had 
placed  him ;  and  the  more  he  considered  it,  the 
more  awkward  as  well  as  absurd  that  predicament 
appeared.  They  had  the  same  acquaintances, 
went  to  the  same  parties,  and  were  very  likely  to 
meet  whenever  they  went  out  of  an  evening. 
What  if  she  should  continue  to  pursue  him  ?  If 
she  did,  he  either  would  have  to  cut  society,  which 
had  promised  to  be  unusually  lively  that  winter,  or 
provide  himself  with  a  chaperon  for  protection. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  in  a  position  to 
appreciate  the  courage  of  American  girls,  who, 
without  a  tremor,  venture  themselves,  year  in  and 
year  out,  in  the  company  of  gentlemen  from  whom 
they  are  exposed  at  any  time  to  proposals  of  a 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  213 

tender  nature.  It  was  a  pity  if  lie  could  not 
be  as  brave  as  girls  who  are  afraid  of  a  mouse. 
Doubtless  it  was  all  in  getting  used  to  it. 

On  reflection,  he  should  not  need  a  chaperon. 
Had  she  not  assured  him  that  he  need  not  be 
afraid  of  her,  that  she  would  never  repeat  what  she 
had  said,  nor  trouble  him  again?  How  her  arm 
trembled  on  his  as  she  was  saying  that,  and  how 
near  she  came  to  breaking  down !  And  this  was 
Maud  Elliott,  the  girl  with  whom  he  had  never 
ventured  to  flirt  with  as  with  some  of  the  others, 
because  she  was  so  reserved  and  distant.  The 
very  last  girl  anybody  would  expect  such  a  thing 
from !  If  it  had  been  embarrassing  for  him  to 
hear  it,  what  must  it  have  cost  such  a  girl  as 
Maud  Elliott  to  say  it !  How  did  she  ever  muster 
the  courage  ? 

He  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  the  ex 
pression  of  his  eyes  became  fixed,  while  his  cheeks 
reddened  slowly  and  deeply.  In  putting  himself 
in  Maud's  place,  he  was  realizing  for  the  first  time 
how  strong  must  have  been  the  feeling  which  had 
nerved  her  to  such  a  step.  His  heart  began  to  beat 
rather  thickly.  There  was  something  decidedly 
intoxicating  in  knowing  that  one  was  regarded  in 
such  a  way  by  a  nice  girl,  even  if  it  were  impossi 
ble,  as  it  certainly  was  in  this  case,  to  reciprocate 
the  feeling.  He  continued  to  put  himself  mentally 
in  Maud's  place.  No  doubt  she  was  also  at  that 
moment  sitting  alone  in  her  chamber,  thinking  the 


214  A  LOVE   STORY   REVERSED 

matter  over  as  he  was.  She  was  not  laughing, 
however,  that  was  pretty  certain ;  and  it  required 
no  clairvoyant's  gift  for  him  to  be  sensible  that  her 
chief  concern  must  be  as  to  what  he  might  be  at 
that  moment  thinking  about  her.  And  how  had 
he  been  thinking  about  her  ? 

As  this  question  came  up  to  his  mind,  he  saw 
himself  for  a  moment  through  Maud's  eyes,  sitting 
there  smoking,  chuckling,  mowing  like  an  idiot 
before  the  glass  because,  forsooth,  a  girl  had  put 
herself  at  his  mercy  on  the  mistaken  supposition 
that  he  was  a  gentleman.  As  he  saw  his  conduct 
in  this  new  light,  he  had  such  an  access  of  self- 
contempt  that,  had  it  been  physically  convenient,  it 
would  have  been  a  relief  to  kick  himself.  What 
touching  faith  she  had  shown  in  his  ability  to  take 
a  generous,  high-minded  view  of  what  she  had 
done,  and  here  he  had  been  guffawing  over  it  like 
a  corner  loafer.  He  would  not,  for  anything  in  the 
world,  have  her  know  how  he  had  behaved.  And 
she  should  not.  She  should  never  know  that  he 
was  less  a  gentleman  than  she  believed  him. 

She  had  told  him,  to  be  sure,  that  he  owed  her 
nothing  because  she  loved  him ;  but  it  had  just 
struck  him  that  he  owed  her  at  least,  on  that  ac 
count,  a  more  solicitous  respect  and  consideration 
than  any  one  else  had  the  right  to  expect  from  him. 

There  were  no  precedents  to  guide  him,  no  rules 
of  etiquette  prescribing  the  proper  thing  for  a 
young  man  to  do  under  such  circumstances  as 


A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED  215 

these.  It  was  a  new  problem  he  had  to  work  out, 
directed  only  by  such  generous  and  manly  instincts 
as  he  might  have.  Plainly  the  first  thing,  and  in 
fact  the  only  thing  that  he  could  do  for  her,  seeing 
that  he  really  could  not  return  her  affection,  was  to 
show  her  that  she  had  not  forfeited  his  esteem. 

At  first  he  thought  of  writing  her  a  note  and  as 
suring  her,  in  a  few  gracefully  turned  sentences, 
of  his  high  respect  in  spite  of  what  she  had  done. 
But  somehow  the  gracefully  turned  sentences  did 
not  occur  to  his  mind  when  he  took  up  his  pen, 
and  it  did  occur  to  him  that  to  write  persons  that 
you  still  respect  them  is  equivalent  to  intimating 
that  their  conduct  justly  might  have  forfeited  your 
respect.  Nor  would  it  be  at  all  easier  to  give  such 
an  assurance  by  word  of  mouth.  In  fact,  quite 
the  reverse.  The  meaning  to  be  conveyed  was  too 
delicate  for  words.  Only  the  unspoken  language 
of  his  manner  and  bearing  could  express  it  without 
offense.  It  might,  however,  be  some  time  before 
chance  brought  them  together  in  society,  even  if 
she  did  not,  for  a  while  at  least,  purposely  avoid 
him.  Meantime,  uncertain  how  her  extraordinary 
action  had  impressed  him,  how  was  she  likely  to 
enjoy  her  thoughts  ? 

In  the  generous  spirit  bred  of  his  new  contrition, 
it  seemed  to  him  a  brutal  thing  to  leave  her  weeks 
or  even  days  in  such  a  condition  of  mind  as  must 
be  hers.  Inaction  on  his  part  was  all  that  was 
required  to  make  her  position  intolerable.  Inac- 


216  A  LOVE   STORY   REVERSED 

tion  was  not  therefore  permissible  to  him.  It  was 
a  matter  in  which  he  must  take  the  initiative,  and 
there  seemed  to  be  just  one  thing  he  could  do 
which  would  at  all  answer  the  purpose.  A  brief 
formal  call,  with  the  conversation  strictly  limited 
to  the  weather  and  similarly  safe  subjects,  would 
make  it  possible  for  them  to  meet  thereafter  in  so 
ciety  without  too  acute  embarrassment.  Had  he 
the  pluck  for  this,  the  nerve  to  carry  it  through  ? 
That  was  the  only  question.  There  was  no  doubt 
as  to  what  he  ought  to  do.  It  would  be  an  awk 
ward  call,  to  put  it  mildly.  It  would  be  skating 
on  terribly  thin  ice  —  a  little  thinner,  perhaps,  than 
a  man  ever  skated  on  before. 

If  he  could  but  hit  on  some  pretext,  it  scarcely 
mattered  how  thin,  —  for  of  course  it  would  not  be 
intended  to  deceive  her,  —  the  interview  possibly 
could  be  managed.  As  he  reflected,  his  eyes  fell 
on  a  large  volume,  purchased  in  a  fit  of  extrava 
gance,  which  lay  on  his  table.  It  was  a  profusely 
illustrated  work  on  pottery,  intended  for  the  vic 
tims  of  the  fashionable  craze  on  that  subject,  which 
at  the  date  of  these  events  had  but  recently  reached 
the  United  States.  His  face  lighted  up  with  a 
sudden  inspiration,  and  taking  a  pen  he  wrote  the 
following  note  to  Maud,  dating  it  the  next  day :  — 

Miss  ELLIOTT  : 

Our  conversation  last  evening  on  the  subject  of 
old  china  has  suggested  to  me  that  you  might  be 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  217 

interested  in  looking  over  the  illustrations  in  the 
volume  which  I  take  the  liberty  of  sending  with 
this.  If  you  will  be  at  home  this  evening,  I  shall 
be  pleased  to  call  and  learn  your  impression. 

ARTHUR  BURTON. 

The  next  morning  he  sent  this  note  and  the 
book  to  Maud,  and  that  evening  called  upon  her. 
To  say  that  he  did  not  twist  his  mustache  rather 
nervously  as  he  stood  upon  the  doorstep,  waiting 
for  the  servant  to  answer  the  bell,  would  be  to 
give  him  credit  for  altogether  more  nerve  than  he 
deserved.  He  was  supported  by  the  consciousness 
that  he  was  doing  something  rather  heroic,  but  he 
very  much  wished  it  were  done.  As  he  was  shown 
into  the  parlor,  Maud  came  forward  to  meet  him. 
She  wore  a  costume  which  set  off  her  fine  figure  to 
striking  advantage,  and  he  was  surprised  to  per 
ceive  that  he  had  never  before  appreciated  what  a 
handsome  girl  she  was.  It  was  strange  that  he 
should  never  have  particularly  observed  before 
what  beautiful  hands  she  had,  and  what  a  dazzling 
fairness  of  complexion  was  the  complement  of  her 
red-brown  hair.  Could  it  be  this  stately  maiden 
who  had  uttered  those  wild  words  the  night  before  ? 
Could  those  breathless  tones,  that  piteous  shame- 
f acedness,  have  been  hers  ?  Surely  he  must  be  the 
victim  of  some  strange  self-delusion.  Only  the 
deep  blush  that  mantled  her  face  as  she  spoke  his 
name,  the  quickness  with  which,  after  one  swift 


218  A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED 

glance,  her  eyes  avoided  his,  and  the  tremor  of  her 
hand  as  he  touched  it,  fully  assured  him  that  he 
had  not  dreamed  the  whole  thing. 

A  shaded  lamp  was  on  the  centre-table,  where 
also  Arthur's  book  on  pottery  lay  open.  After 
thanking  him  for  sending  it  and  expressing  the 
pleasure  she  had  taken  in  looking  it  over,  Maud 
plunged  at  once  into  a  discussion  of  Sevres,  and 
Cloisonne,  and  Palissy,  and  tiles,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  and  Arthur  bravely  kept  his  end  up. 
Any  one  who  had  looked  casually  into  the  parlor 
would  have  thought  that  old  crockery  was  the 
most  absorbing  subject  on  earth  to  these  young 
people,  with  such  eagerness  did  they  compare 
opinions  and  debate  doubtful  points.  At  length, 
however,  even  pottery  gave  out  as  a  resource,  es 
pecially  as  Arthur  ceased,  after  a  while,  to  do  his 
part,  and  silences  began  to  ensue,  during  which 
Maud  rapidly  turned  the  pages  of  the  book  or  pre 
tended  to  be  deeply  impressed  with  the  illustra 
tions,  while  her  cheeks  grew  hotter  and  hotter 
under  Arthur's  gaze.  He  knew  that  he  was  a 
detestable  coward  thus  to  revel  in  her  confusion, 
when  he  ought  to  be  trying  to  cover  it,  but  it  was 
such  a  novel  sensation  to  occupy  this  masterful 
attitude  towards  a  young  lady  that  he  yielded 
basely  to  the  temptation.  After  all,  it  was  but 
fair.  Had  she  not  caused  him  a  very  embarrassing 
quarter  of  an  hour  the  night  before  ? 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  see  you  at  Miss  Oswald's 


A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED  219 

next  Thursday,"  he  said,  as  he  rose  to  take  his 
leave. 

She  replied  that  she  hoped  to  be  there.  She 
accompanied  him  to  the  door  of  the  parlor.  There 
was  less  light  there  than  immediately  about  the 
table  where  they  had  been  sitting.  "  Good-even 
ing,"  he  said.  "  Good-evening,"  she  replied ;  and 
then,  in  a  lowered  voice,  hardly  above  a  whisper, 
she  added,  "I  appreciate  all  that  was  noble  and 
generous  in  your  coming  to-night."  He  made  no 
reply,  but  took  her  hand  and,  bending  low,  pressed 
his  lips  to  it  as  reverently  as  if  she  had  been  a 
queen. 

Now  Arthur's  motive  in  making  this  call  upon 
Maud,  which  has  been  described,  had  been  entirely 
unselfish.  Furthest  from  his  mind,  of  all  ideas, 
had  been  any  notion  of  pursuing  the  conquest  of 
her  heart  which  he  had  inadvertently  made.  Never 
theless,  the  effect  of  his  call,  and  that,  too,  even 
before  it  was  made,  —  if  this  bull  may  be  par 
doned,  —  had  been  to  complete  that  conquest  as  no 
other  device,  however  studied,  could  have  done. 

The  previous  night  Maud  had  been  unable  to 
sleep  for  shame.  Her  cheeks  scorched  the  pillows 
faster  than  her  tears  could  cool  them ;  and  alto 
gether  her  estate  was  so  wretched  that  Lucy  Mer- 
ritt,  could  she  have  looked  in  upon  her,  possibly 
might  have  been  shaken  in  her  opinion  as  to  the 
qualifications  of  women  to  play  the  part  of  men  in 
love,  even  if  permitted  by  society. 


220  A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED 

It  had  been  hard  enough  to  nerve  herself  to  the 
point  of  doing  what  she  had  done  in  view  of  the 
embarrassments  she  had  foreseen.  An  hour  after 
she  uttered  those  fatal  words,  her  whole  thinking 
was  summed  up  in  the  cry,  "  If  I  only  had  not 
done  it,  then  at  least  he  would  still  respect  me." 
In  the  morning  she  looked  like  one  in  a  fever.  Her 
eyes  were  red  and  swollen,  her  face  was  pallid  but 
for  a  hard  red  spot  in  each  cheek,  and  her  whole 
appearance  was  expressive  of  bodily  and  mental 
prostration.  She  did  not  go  down  to  breakfast, 
pleading  a  very  genuine  headache,  and  Arthur's 
note  and  the  book  on  pottery  were  brought  up  to 
her.  She  guessed  his  motive  in  a  moment.  Her 
need  gave  her  the  clue  to  his  meaning. 

What  was  on  Arthur's  part  merely  a  decent  sort 
of  thing  to  do,  her  passionate  gratitude  instantly 
magnified  into  an  act  of  chivalrous  generosity, 
proving  him  the  noblest  of  men  and  the  gentlest 
of  gentlemen.  She  exaggerated  the  abjectness  of 
the  position  from  which  his  action  had  rescued  her, 
in  order  to  feel  that  she  owed  the  more  to  his 
nobility.  At  any  time  during  the  previous  night 
she  gladly  would  have  given  ten  years  of  her  life 
to  recall  the  confession  that  she  had  made  to  him  ; 
now  she  told  herself,  with  a  burst  of  exultant  tears, 
that  she  would  not  recall  it  if  she  could.  She  had 
made  no  mistake.  Her  womanly  dignity  was  safe 
in  his  keeping.  Whether  he  ever  returned  her 
love  or  not,  she  was  not  ashamed,  but  was  glad, 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  221 

and  always  should  be  glad,  that  he  knew  she  loved 
him. 

As  for  Arthur,  the  reverence  with  which  he  bent 
over  her  hand  on  leaving  her  was  as  heartfelt  as  it 
was  graceful.  In  her  very  disregard  of  conven 
tional  decorum  she  had  impressed  him  the  more 
strikingly  with  the  native  delicacy  and  refinement 
of  her  character.  It  had  been  reserved  for  her  to 
show  him  how  genuine  a  thing  is  womanly  modesty, 
and  how  far  from  being  dependent  on  those  con 
ventional  affectations  with  which  it  is  in  the  vulgar 
mind  so  often  identified,  with  the  effect  of  seeming 
as  artificial  as  they. 

When,  a  few  evenings  later,  he  went  to  Miss 
Oswald's  party,  the  leading  idea  in  his  mind  was 
that  he  should  meet  Maud  there.  His  eyes  sought 
her  out  the  moment  he  entered  the  Oswald  parlors, 
but  it  was  some  time  before  he  approached  her. 
For  years  he  had  been  constantly  meeting  her,  but 
he  had  never  before  taken  special  note  of  her  ap 
pearance  in  company.  He  had  a  curiosity  about 
her  now  as  lively  as  it  was  wholly  new.  He  took 
a  great  interest  in  observing  how  she  walked  and 
talked  and  laughed,  how  she  sat  down  and  rose  up 
and  demeaned  herself.  It  gave  him  an  odd  but 
marked  gratification  to  note  how  favorably  she 
compared  in  style  and  appearance  with  the  girls 
present.  Even  while  he  was  talking  with  Ella 
Perry,  with  whom  he  believed  himself  in  love,  he 
was  so  busy  making  these  observations  that  Ella 


222  A  LOVE  STORY  REVERSED 

dismissed  him  with  the  sarcastic  advice  to  follow 
his  eyes,  which  he  presently  proceeded  to  do. 

Maud  greeted  him  with  a  very  fair  degree  of 
self-possession,  though  her  cheeks  were  delightfully 
rosy.  At  first  it  was  evidently  difficult  for  her  to 
talk,  and  her  embarrassment  betrayed  uncertainty 
as  to  the  stability  of  the  conventional  footing  which 
his  call  of  the  other  evening  had  established  be 
tween  them.  Gradually,  however,  the  easy,  non 
chalant  tone  which  he  affected  seemed  to  give  her 
confidence,  and  she  talked  more  easily.  Her  color 
continued  to  be  unusually  though  not  unbecomingly 
high,  and  it  took  a  great  deal  of  skirmishing  for 
him  to  get  a  glance  from  her  eyes,  but  her  embar 
rassment  was  no  longer  distressing.  Arthur,  in 
deed,  was  scarcely  in  a  mood  to  notice  that  she  did 
not  bear  her  full  part  in  the  conversation.  The 
fact  of  conversing  on  any  terms  with  a  young  lady 
who  had  confessed  to  him  what  Maud  had  was  so 
piquant  in  itself  that  it  would  have  made  talk  in 
the  deaf-and-dumb  alphabet  vivacious.  All  the 
while,  as  they  laughed  and  talked  together  quite  as 
any  other  two  young  people  might  do,  those  words 
of  hers  the  other  night :  "  I  care  for  you  very  much," 
"  Be  a  little  good  to  me,"  were  ringing  in  his  ears. 
The  reflection  that  by  virtue  of  her  confession  of 
love  she  was  his  whenever  he  should  wish  to  claim 
her,  even  though  he  never  should  claim  her,  was 
constantly  in  his  mind,  and  gave  him  a  sense  of 
potential  proprietorship  which  was  decidedly  heady. 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  223 

"  Arthur  Burton  seems  to  be  quite  fascinated.  I 
never  supposed  that  he  fancied  Maud  Elliott  before, 
did  you?"  said  one  of  the  j^oung  ladies,  a  little 
maliciously,  to  Ella  Perry.  Ella  tossed  her  head 
and  replied  that  really  she  had  never  troubled 
herself  about  Mr.  Burton's  fancies,  which  was 
not  true.  The  fact  is,  she  was  completely  puzzled 
as  well  as  vexed  by  Arthur's  attentions  to  Maud. 
There  was  not  a  girl  in  her  set  of  whom  she  would 
not  sooner  have  thought  as  a  rival.  Arthur  had 
never,  to  her  knowledge,  talked  for  five  minutes 
together  with  Maud  before,  and  here  he  was  spend 
ing  half  the  evening  in  an  engrossing  tete-a-tete 
with  her,  to  the  neglect  of  his  other  acquaintances 
and  of  herself  in  particular.  Maud  was  looking 
very  well,  to  be  sure,  but  no  better  than  often  be 
fore,  when  he  had  not  glanced  at  her  a  second  time. 
What  might  be  the  clue  to  this  mystery?  She 
remembered,  upon  reflection,  that  he  had  escorted 
Maud  home  from  the  party  at  her  own  house  the 
week  before,  but  that  explained  nothing.  Ella 
was  aware  of  no  weapon  in  the  armory  of  her  sex 
capable  of  effecting  the  subjugation  of  a  previously 
quite  indifferent  young  man  in  the  course  of  a  ten- 
minutes'  walk.  If,  indeed,  such  weapons  there  had 
been,  Maud  Elliott,  the  most  reserved  and  diffident 
girl  of  her  acquaintance,  —  "  stiff  and  pokerish," 
Ella  called  her,  —  was  the  last  person  likely  to 
employ  them.  It  must  be,  Ella  was  forced  to  con 
clude,  that  Arthur  was  trying  to  punish  her  for 


224  A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED 

snubbing  him  by  devoting  himself  to  Maud ;  and, 
having  adopted  this  conclusion,  the  misguided 
damsel  proceeded  to  flirt  vigorously  with  a  young 
man  whom  she  detested. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  evening,  when  Arthur 
was  looking  again  for  Maud,  he  learned  that  she 
had  gone  home,  a  servant  having  come  to  fetch 
her.  The  result  was  that  he  went  home  alone, 
Ella  Perry  having  informed  him  rather  crushingly 
that  she  had  accorded  the  honor  of  escorting:  her- 

O 

self  to  another.  He  was  rather  vexed  at  Ella's 
jilting  him,  though  he  admitted  that  she  might 
have  fancied  she  had  some  excuse. 

A  few  days  later  he  called  on  her,  expecting  to 
patch  up  their  little  misunderstanding,  as  on  pre 
vious  occasions.  She  was  rather  offish,  but  really 
would  have  been  glad  to  make  up,  had  he  shown 
the  humility  and  tractableness  he  usually  mani 
fested  after  their  tiffs  ;  but  he  was  not  in  a  humble 
frame  of  mind,  and,  after  a  brief  and  unsatisfac 
tory  call,  took  his  leave.  The  poor  girl  was  com 
pletely  puzzled.  What  had  come  over  Arthur? 
She  had  snubbed  him  no  more  than  usual  that 
night,  and  generally  he  took  it  very  meekly.  She 
would  have  opened  her  eyes  very  wide  indeed  if 
she  had  guessed  what  there  had  been  in  his  recent 
experience  to  spoil  his  appetite  for  humble-pie. 

It  was  not  late  when  he  left  Ella,  and  as  he 
passed  Maud's  house  he  could  not  resist  the  temp 
tation  of  going  in.  This  time  he  did  not  pretend 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  225 

to  himself  that  he  sought  her  from  any  but  entirely 
selfish  motives.  He  wanted  to  remove  the  unplea 
santly  acid  impression  left  by  his  call  on  Ella  by 
passing  an  hour  with  some  one  whom  he  knew 
would  be  glad  to  see  him  and  not  be  afraid  to  let 
him  know  it.  In  this  aim  he  was  quite  success 
ful.  Maud's  face  fairly  glowed  with  glad  surprise 
when  he  entered  the  room.  This  was  their  second 
meeting  since  the  evening  Arthur  had  called  to 
talk  pottery,  and  the  tacit  understanding  that  her 
tender  avowal  was  to  be  ignored  between  them 
had  become  so  well  established  that  they  could 
converse  quite  at  their  ease.  But  ignoring  is  not 
forgetting.  On  the  other  hand,  it  implies  a  con 
stant  remembering  ;  and  the  mutual  consciousness 
between  these  young  people  could  scarcely  fail  to 
give  a  peculiar  piquancy  to  their  intercourse. 

That  evening  was  the  first  of  many  which  the 
young  man  passed  in  Maud's  parlor,  and  the  be 
ginning  of  an  intimacy  which  caused  no  end  of 
wonder  among  their  acquaintances.  Had  its  real 
nature  been  suspected,  that  wonder  would  have 
been  vastly  increased.  For  whereas  they  supposed 
it  to  be  an  entirely  ordinary  love  affair,  except  in 
the  abruptness  of  its  development,  it  was,  in  fact, 
a  quite  extraordinary  variation  on  the  usual  social 
relations  of  young  men  and  women. 

Maud's  society  had  in  fact  not  been  long  in 
acquiring  an  attraction  for  Arthur  quite  independ 
ent  of  the  peculiar  circumstances  under  which  he 


226  A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED 

had  first  become  interested  in  her.  As  soon  as  she 
began  to  feel  at  ease  with  him,  her  shyness  rapidly 
disappeared,  and  he  was  astonished  to  discover 
that  the  stiff,  silent  girl  whom  he  had  thought 
rather  dull  possessed  culture  and  originality  such 
as  few  girls  of  his  acquaintance  could  lay  claim  to. 
His  assurance  beyond  possibility  of  doubt  that  she 
was  as  really  glad  to  see  him  whenever  he  called 
as  she  said  she  was,  and  that  though  his  speech 
might  be  dull  or  his  jests  poor  they  were  sure  of  a 
friendly  critic,  made  the  air  of  her  parlor  wonder 
fully  genial.  The  result  was  that  he  fell  into  a 
habit  whenever  he  wanted  a  little  social  relaxation, 
but  felt  too  tired,  dispirited,  or  lazy  for  the  effort 
of  a  call  on  any  of  the  other  girls,  of  going  to 
Maud.  One  evening  he  said  to  her  just  as  he  was 
leaving,  "  If  I  come  here  too  much,  you  must  send 
me  home." 

"  I  will  when  you  do,"  she  replied,  with  a  bright 
smile. 

"  But  really,"  he  persisted,  u  I  am  afraid  I  bore 
you  by  coming  so  often." 

"  You  know  better  than  that,"  was  her  only 
reply,  but  the  vivid  blush  which  accompanied  the 
words  was  a  sufficient  enforcement  of  them  ;  and 
he  was,  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  very  glad  to 
think  he  did  know  better. 

Without  making  any  pretense  of  being  in  love 
with  her,  he  had  come  to  depend  on  her  being  in 
love  with  him.  It  had  grown  so  pleasing  to  count 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  227 

on  her  loyalty  to  him  that  a  change  in  her  feelings 
would  have  been  a  disagreeable  surprise.  Getting 
something  for  nothing  is  a  mode  of  acquisition 
particularly  pleasing  to  mankind,  and  he  was  en 
joying  in  some  respects  the  position  of  an  engaged 
man  without  any  of  the  responsibilities. 

But  if  in  some  respects  he  was  in  the  position 
of  an  engaged  man,  in  others  he  was  farther  from 
it  than  the  average  unengaged  man.  For  while 
Maud  and  he  talked  of  almost  everything  else 
under  heaven,  the  subject  of  love  was  tabooed  be 
tween  them.  Once  for  all  Maud  had  said  her  say 
on  that  point,  and  Arthur  could  say  nothing  unless 
he  said  as  much  as  she  had  said.  For  the  same 
reason,  there  was  never  any  approach  to  flirting 
between  them.  Any  trifling  of  that  sort  would 
have  been  meaningless  in  an  intimacy  begun,  as 
theirs  had  been,  at  a  point  beyond  where  most 
flirtations  end. 

Not  only  in  this  respect,  but  also  in  the  singu^" 
lar  frankness  which  marked  their  interchange  of 
thought  and  opinion,  was  there  something  in  their 
relation  savoring  of  that  of  brother  and  sister.  It 
was  as  if  her  confession  of  love  had  swept  away  by 
one  breath  the  whole  lattice  of  conventional  affec 
tations  through  which  young  men  and  women  usu-, 
ally  talk  with  each  other.  Once  for  all  she  had 
dropped  her  guard  with  him,  and  he  could  not  do 
less  with  her.  He  found  himself  before  long  talk 
ing  more  freely  to  her  than  to  any  others  of  his 


228  A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED 

acquaintance,  and  about  more  serious  matters. 
They  talked  of  their  deepest  beliefs  and  convic 
tions,  and  he  told  her  things  that  he  had  never 
told  any  one  before.  Why  should  he  not  tell  her 
his  secrets  ?  Had  she  not  told  him  hers  ?  It  was 
a  pleasure  to  reciprocate  her  confidence  if  he  could 
not  her  love.  He  had  not  supposed  it  to  be  possi 
ble  for  a  man  to  become  so  closely  acquainted  with 
a  young  lady  not  a  relative.  It  came  to  the  point 
finally  that  when  they  met  in  company,  the  few 
words  that  he  might  chance  to  exchange  with  her 
were  pitched  in  a  different  key  from  that  used 
with  the  others,  such  as  one  drops  into  when  greet 
ing  a  relative  or  familiar  friend  met  in  a  throng  of 
strangers. 

Of  course,  all  this  had  not  come  at  once.  It 
was  in  winter  that  the  events  took  place  with 
which  this  narrative  opened.  Winter  had  mean 
time  glided  into  spring,  and  spring  had  become 
summer.  In  the  early  part  of  June  a  report  that 
Arthur  Burton  and  Maud  Elliott  were  engaged 
obtained  circulation,  and,  owing  to  the  fact  that 
he  had  so  long  been  apparently  devoted  to  her, 
was  generally  believed.  Whenever  Maud  went 
out  she  met  congratulations  on  every  side,  and  had 
to  reply  a  dozen  times  a  day  that  there  was  no 
truth  in  the  story,  and  smilingly  declare  that  she 
could  not  imagine  how  it  started.  After  doing 
which,  she  would  go  home  and  cry  all  night,  for 
Arthur  was  not  only  not  engaged  to  her,  but  she 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  229 

had  come  to  know  in  her  heart  that  he  never 
would  be. 

At  first,  and  indeed  for  a  long  time,  she  was  so 
proud  of  the  frank  and  loyal  friendship  between 
them,  such  as  she  was  sure  had  never  before  ex 
isted  between  unplighted  man  and  maid,  that  she 
would  have  been  content  to  wait  half  her  lifetime 
for  him  to  learn  to  love  her,  if  only  she  were  sure 
that  he  would  at  last.  But,  after  all,  it  was  the 
hope  of  his  love,  not  his  friendship,  that  had  been 
the  motive  of  her  desperate  venture.  As  month 
after  month  passed,  and  he  showed  no  symptoms 
of  any  feeling  warmer  than  esteem,  but  always  in 
the  midst  of  his  cordiality  was  so  careful  lest  he 
should  do  or  say  anything  to  arouse  unfounded 
expectations  in  her  mind,  she  lost  heart  and  felt 
that  what  she  had  hoped  was  not  to  be.  She  said 
to  herself  that  the  very  fact  that  he  was  so  much 
her  friend  should  have  warned  her  that  he  would 
never  be  her  lover,  for  it  is  not  often  that  lovers 
are  made  out  of  friends. 

It  is  always  embarrassing  for  a  young  lady  to 
have  to  deny  a  report  of  her  engagement,  espe 
cially  when  it  is  a  report  she  would  willingly  have 
true  ;  but  what  made  it  particularly  distressing 
for  Maud  that  this  report  should  have  got  about 
was  her  belief  that  it  would  be  the  means  of  bring 
ing  to  an  end  the  relations  between  them.  It 
would  undoubtedly  remind  Arthur,  by  showing 
how  the  public  interpreted  their  friendship,  that 


230  A   LOVE   STORY  REVERSED 

his  own  prospects  in  other  quarters,  and  he  might 
even  think  justice  to  her  future,  demanded  the 
discontinuance  of  attentions  which  must  necessa 
rily  be  misconstrued  by  the  world.  The  public  had 
been  quite  right  in  assuming  that  it  was  time  for 
them  to  be  engaged.  Such  an,  intimacy  as  theirs 
between  a  young  man  and  a  young  woman,  unless 
it  were  to  end  in  an  engagement,  had  no  precedent 
and  belonged  to  no  known  social  category.  It  was 
vain,  in  the  long  run,  to  try  to  live  differently 
from  other  people. 

The  pangs  of  an  accusing  conscience  completed 
her  wretchedness  at  this  time.  The  conventional 
proprieties  are  a  law  written  on  the  hearts  of  re 
fined,  delicately  nurtured  girls ;  and  though,  in 
the  desperation  of  unreciprocated  and  jealous  love, 
she  had  dared  to  violate  them,  not  the  less  did 
they  now  thoroughly  revenge  themselves.  If  her 
revolt  against  custom  had  resulted  happily,  it  is 
not  indeed  likely  that  she  would  ever  have  re 
proached  herself  very  seriously ;  but  now  that  it 
had  issued  in  failure,  her  self-confidence  was  gone 
nd  her  conscience  easily  convicted  her  of  sin. 
The  outraged  Proprieties,  with  awful  spectacles 
and  minatory,  reproachful  gestures,  crowded 
nightly  around  her  bed,  the  Titanic  shade  of  Mrs. 
Grundy  looming  above  her  satellite  shams  and 
freezing  her  blood  with  a  Gorgon  gaze.  The  feel 
ing  that  she  had  deserved  all  that  was  to  come 
upon  her  deprived  her  of  moral  support. 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  231 

Arthur  had  never  showed  that  he  thought 
cheaply  of  her,  but  in  his  heart  of  hearts  how 
could  he  help  doing  so?  Compared  with  the 
other  girls,  serene  and  unapproachable  in  their 
virgin  pride,  must  she  not  necessarily  seem  bold, 
coarse,  and  common  ?  That  he  took  care  never  to 
let  her  see  it  only  proved  his  kindness  of  heart. 
Her  sense  of  this  kindness  was  more  and  more 
touched  with  abjectness. 

The  pity  of  it  was  that  she  had  come  to  love  him 
so  much  more  since  she  had  known  him  so  well. 
It  scarcely  seemed  to  her  now  that  she  could  have 
truly  cared  for  him  at  all  in  the  old  days,  and  she 
wondered,  as  she  looked  back,  that  the  shallow 
emotion  she  then  experienced  had  emboldened  her 
to  do  what  she  had  done.  Ah,  why  had  she  done 
it  ?  Why  had  she  not  let  him  go  his  way  ?  She 
might  have  suffered  then,  but  not  such  heart-break 
ing  misery  as  was  now  in  store  for  her. 

Some  weeks  passed  with  no  marked  change  in 
their  relations,  except  that  a  new  and  marked  con 
straint  which  had  come  over  Arthur's  manner  to 
wards  her  was  additional  evidence  that  the  end  was 
at  hand.  Would  he  think  it  better  to  say  nothing, 
but  merely  come  to  see  her  less  and  less  frequently 
and  so  desert  her,  without  an  explanation,  which, 
after  all,  was  needless  ?  Or  would  he  tell  her  how 
the  matter  stood  and  say  good-by  ?  She  thought 
he  would  take  the  latter  course,  seeing  that  they 
had  always  been  so  frank  with  each  other.  She 


232  A  LOVE   STORY   REVERSED 

tried  to  prepare  herself  for  what  she  knew  was 
coming,  and  to  get  ready  to  bear  it.  The  only  re 
sult  was  that  she  grew  sick  with  apprehension  when 
ever  he  did  not  call,  and  was  only  at  ease  when  he 
was  with  her,  in  the  moment  that  he  was  saying 
good-by  without  having  uttered  the  dreaded  words. 

The  end  came  during  a  call  which  he  made  on 
her  in  the  last  part  of  June.  He  appeared  preoc 
cupied  and  moody,  and  said  scarcely  anything. 
Several  times  she  caught  him  furtively  regarding 
her  with  a  very  strange  expression.  She  tried  to 
talk,  but  she  could  not  alone  keep  up  the  conversa 
tion,  and  in  time  there  came  a  silence.  A  hideous 
silence  it  was  to  Maud,  an  abyss  yawning  to  swal 
low  up  all  that  was  left  of  her  happiness.  She 
had  no  more  power  to  speak,  and  when  he  spoke 
she  knew  it  would  be  to  utter  the  words  she  had 
so  long  expected.  Evidently  it  was  very  hard  for 
him  to  bring  himself  to  utter  them,  —  almost  as 
hard  as  it  would  be  for  her  to  hear  them.  He  was 
very  tender-hearted  she  had  learned  already.  Even 
in  that  moment  she  was  very  sorry  for  him.  It 
was  all  her  fault  that  he  had  to  say  this  to  her. 

Suddenly,  just  as  she  must  have  cried  out,  una 
ble  to  bear  the  tension  of  suspense  any  longer,  he 
rose  abruptly  to  his  feet,  uttering  something  about 
going  and  an  engagement  which  he  had  almost  for 
gotten.  Hastily  wishing  her  good-evening,  with 
hurried  steps  he  half  crossed  the  room,  hesitated, 
stopped,  looked  back  at  her,  seemed  to  waver  a 


A  LOVE   STORY   REVERSED  233 

moment,  and  then,  as  if  moved  by  a  sudden  deci 
sion,  returned  to  her  and  took  her  gently  by  the 
hand.  Then  she  knew  it  was  coming. 

For  a  long  moment  he  stood  looking  at  her.  She 
knew  just  the  pitifulness  that  was  in  his  expression, 
but  she  could  not  raise  her  eyes  to  his.  She  tried 
to  summon  her  pride,  her  dignity,  to  her  support. 
But  she  had  no  pride,  no  dignity,  left.  She  had 
surrendered  them  long  ago. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  he  said,  in 
a  tone  full  of  gentleness,  just  as  she  had  known 
he  would  speak.  "  It  is  something  I  have  put  off 
saying  as  long  as  possible,  and  perhaps  you  have 
already  guessed  what  it  is." 

Maud  felt  the  blood  leaving  her  face ;  the  room 
spun  around ;  she  was  afraid  she  should  faint.  It 
only  remained  that  she  should  break  down  now  to 
complete  her  humiliation  before  him,  and  appar 
ently  she  was  going  to  do  just  that. 

"  We  have  had  a  most  delightful  time  the  past 
year,"  he  went  on ;  "  that  is,  at  least  I  have.  I 
don't  believe  the  friendship  of  a  girl  was  ever  so 
much  to  a  man  as  yours  has  been  to  me.  I  doubt 
if  there  ever  was  just  such  a  friendship  as  ours  has 
been,  anyway.  I  shall  always  look  back  on  it  as 
the  rarest  and  most  charming  passage  in  my  life. 
But  I  have  seen  for  some  time  that  we  could  not 
go  on  much  longer  on  the  present  footing,  and  to 
night  it  has  come  over  me  that  we  can't  go  on  even 
another  day.  Maud,  I  can't  play  at  being  friends 


234  A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED 

with  you  one  hour  more.  I  love  you.  Do  you  care 
for  me  still  ?  Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

When  it  is  remembered  that  up  to  his  last  words 
she  had  been  desperately  bracing  herself  against 
an  announcement  of  a  most  opposite  nature,  it  will 
not  seem  strange  that  for  a  moment  Maud  had  dif 
ficulty  in  realizing  just  what  had  happened.  She 
looked  at  him  as  if  dazed,  and  with  an  instinct  of 
bewilderment  drew  back  a  little  as  he  would  have 
clasped  her.  "  I  thought,"  she  stammered  —  "I 
thought  —  I  "  - 

He  misconstrued  her  hesitation.  His  eyes  dark 
ened  and  his  voice  was  sharpened  with  a  sudden 
fear  as  he  exclaimed,  "  I  know  it  was  a  long  time 
ago  you  told  me  that.  Perhaps  you  don't  feel  the 
same  way  now.  Don't  tell  me,  Maud,  that  you 
don't  care  for  me  any  longer,  now  that  I  have 
learned  I  can't  do  without  you." 

A  look  of  wondering  happiness,  scarcely  able 
even  yet  to  believe  in  its  own  reality,  had  succeeded 
the  bewildered  incredulity  in  her  face. 

"  O  Arthur  !  "  she  cried.  "  Do  you  really  mean 
it  ?  Are  you  sure  it  is  not  out  of  pity  that  you  say 
this?  Do  you  love  me  after  all?  Would  you 
really  like  me  a  little  to  be  your  wife  ?  " 

"  If  you  are  not  my  wife,  I  shall  never  have 
one,"  he  replied.  "  You  have  spoiled  all  other 
women  for  me." 

Then  she  let  him  take  her  in  his  arms,  and  as 
his  lips  touched  hers  for  the  first  time  he  faintly 


A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED  235 

wondered  if  it  were  possible  he  had  ever  dreamed 
of  any  other  woman  but  Maud  Elliott  as  his  wife. 
After  she  had  laughed  and  cried  awhile,  she  said  : 

"  How  was  it  that  you  never  let  me  see  you  cared 
for  me  ?  You  never  showed  it." 

"  I  tried  not  to,"  he  replied  ;  "  and  I  would  not 
have  shown  it  to-night,  if  I  could  have  helped  it.  I 
tried  to  get  away  without  betraying  my  secret,  but 
I  could  not."  Then  he  told  her  that  when  he  found 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  her,  he  was  almost  angry 
with  himself.  He  was  so  proud  of  their  friendship 
that  a  mere  love  affair  seemed  cheap  and  common 
beside  it.  Any  girl  would  do  to  fall  in  love  with ; 
but  there  was  not,  he  was  sure,  another  in  America 
capable  of  bearing  her  part  in  such  a  rare  and  deli 
cate  companionship  as  theirs.  He  was  determined 
to  keep  up  their  noble  game  of  friendship  as  long 
as  might  be. 

Afterward,  during  the  evening,  he  boasted  him 
self  to  her  not  a  little  of  the  self-control  he  had 
shown  in  hiding  his  passion  so  long,  a  feat  the 
merit  of  which  perhaps  she  did  not  adequately 
appreciate. 

"  Many  a  time  in  the  last  month  or  two  when 
you  have  been  saying  good-by  to  me  of  an  evening, 
with  your  hand  in  mine,  the  temptation  has  been 
almost  more  than  I  could  withstand  to  seize  you  in 
my  arms.  It  was  all  the  harder,  you  see,  because 
I  fancied  you  would  not  be  very  angry  if  I  did.  In 
fact,  you  once  gave  me  to  understand  as  much  in 


236  A  LOVE   STORY  REVERSED 

pretty  plain  language,  if  I  remember  rightly.  Pos 
sibly  you  may  recall  the  conversation.  You  took 
the  leading  part  in  it,  I  believe." 

Maud  had  bent  her  head  so  low  that  he  could 
not  see  her  face.  It  was  very  cruel  in  him,  but  he 
deliberately  took  her  chin  in  his  hands,  and  gently 
but  firmly  turned  her  face  up  to  his.  Then,  as  he 
kissed  the  shamed  eyes  and  furiously  blushing 
cheeks,  he  dropped  the  tone  of  banter  and  said, 
with  moist  eyes,  in  a  voice  of  solemn  tenderness :  — 

"  My  brave  darling,  with  all  my  life  I  will  thank 
you  for  the  words  you  spoke  that  night.  But  for 
them  I  might  have  missed  the  wife  God  meant 
for  me." 


DESEKTED 

"  WHAT  a  glorious,  all-satisfying  country  this 
Nevada  desert  would  be,  if  one  were  only  all  eyes, 
and  had  no  need  of  food,  drink,  and  shelter! 
Would  n't  it,  Miss  Dwyer  ?  Do  you  know,  I  've 
no  doubt  that  this  is  the  true  location  of  heaven. 
You  see,  the  lack  of  water  and  vegetation  would 
be  no  inconvenience  to  spirits,  while  the  magnifi 
cent  scenery  and  the  cloudless  sky  would  be  just 
the  thing  to  make  them  thrive." 

"  But  what  I  can't  get  over,"  responded  the 
young  lady  addressed,  "  is  that  these  alkali  plains, 
which  have  been  described  as  so  dreary  and  unin 
teresting,  should  prove  to  be  in  reality  one  of  the 
most  wonderfully  impressive  and  beautiful  regions 
in  the  world.  What  awful  fibbers,  or  what  awfully 
dull  people,  they  must  have  been  whose  descrip 
tions  have  so  misled  the  public !  It  is  perfectly 
unaccountable.  Here  I  expected  to  doze  all  the 
way  across  the  desert,  while  in  fact  I  've  grudged 
my  eyes  time  enough  to  wink  ever  since  I  left  my 
berth  this  morning." 

"  The  trouble  is,"  replied  her  companion,  "  that 
persons  in  search  of  the  picturesque,  or  with  much 
eye  for  it,  are  rare  travelers  along  this  route.  The 


238  DESERTED 

people  responsible  for  the  descriptions  you  com 
plain  of  are  thrifty  business-men,  with  no  idea  that 
there  can  be  any  possible  attraction  in  a  country 
where  crops  can't  be  raised,  timber  cut,  or  ore  dug 
up.  For  my  part,  I  Jhank  the  Lord  for  the  beau 
tiful  barrenness  that  has  consecrated  this  great 
region  to  loneliness.  Here  there  will  always  be  a 
chance  to  get  out  of  sight  and  sound  of  the  swarm 
ing  millions  who  have  already  left  scarcely  stand 
ing-room  for  a  man  in  the  East.  I  would  n't  give 
much  for  a  country  where  there  are  no  wilder 
nesses  left." 

"  But  I  really  think  it  is  rather  hard  to  say  in 
just  what  the  beauty  of  the  desert  consists,"  said 
Miss  Dwyer.  "  It  is  so  simple.  I  scribbled  two 
pages  of  description  in  my  note-book  this  morning, 
but  when  I  read  them  over,  and  then  looked  out 
of  the  window,  I  tore  them  up.  I  think  the  won 
derfully  fine,  clear,  brilliant  air  transfigures  the 
landscape  and  makes  it  something  that  must  be 
seen  and  can't  be  told.  After  seeing  how  this 
air  makes  the  ugly  sagebrush  and  the  patches  of 
alkali  and  brown  earth  a  feast  to  the  eye,  one  can 
understand  how  the  light  of  heaven  may  make  the 
ugliest  faces  beautiful." 

The  pretty  talker  is  sitting  next  the  window  of 
palace-car  No.  30  of  the  Central  Pacific  line,  which 
has  already  been  her  flying  home  for  two  days. 
The  gentleman  who  sits  beside  her  professes  to  be 
sharing  the  view,  but  it  is  only  fair  I  should  tell 


DESERTED  239 

the  reader  that  under  this  pretense  he  is  nefa 
riously  delighting  in  the  rounded  contour  of  his 
companion's  half-averted  face,  as  she,  in  unfeigned 
engrossment,  scans  the  panorama  unrolled  before 
them  by  the  swift  motion  of  the  car.  How  sweet 
and  fresh  is  the  bright  tint  of  her  cheek  against 
the  ghastly  white  background  of  the  alkali-patches 
as  they  flit  by  !  Still,  it  can't  be  said  that  he  is  n't 
enjoying  the  scenery  too,  for  surely  there  is  no 
such  Claude-Lorraine  glass  to  reflect  and  enhance 
the  beauty  of  a  landscape  as  the  face  of  a  spirituelle 
girl. 

With  a  profound  sigh,  summing  up  both  her 
admiration  and  that  despair  of  attaining  the  per 
fect  insight  and  sympathy  imagined  and  longed 
for  which  is  always  a  part  of  intense  appreciation 
of  natural  beauty,  Miss  Dwyer  threw  herself  back 
in  her  seat,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  car-ceiling 
with  an  expression  as  if  she  were  looking  at  some 
thing  at  least  as  far  away  as  the  moon. 

"  I  'm  going  to  make  a  statue  when  I  get  home," 
she  said,  —  "a  statue  which  will  personify  Nevada, 
and  represent  the  tameless,  desolate,  changeless, 
magnificent  beauty  and  the  self-sufficient  loneli 
ness  of  the  desert.  I  can  see  it  in  my  mind's  eye 
now.  It  will  probably  be  the  finest  statue  in  the 
world." 

"  If  you  'd  as  lief  put  your  ideal  into  a  paint 
ing,  I  will  give  you  a  suggestion  that  will  be  origi 
nal  if  nothing  else,"  he  observed. 


240  DESERTED 

"  What 's  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  having  in  view  these  white  alkali- 
patches  that  chiefly  characterize  Nevada,  paint  her 
as  a  leper." 

"  That  's  horrid  !  You  need  n't  talk  to  me  any 
more,"  she  exclaimed  emphatically. 

With  this  sort  of  chatter  they  had  beguiled  the 
time  since  leaving  San  Francisco  the  morning  of 
the  day  before.  Acquaintances  are  indeed  made 
as  rapidly  on  an  overland  train  as  on  an  ocean 
steamship,  but  theirs  had  dated  from  the  preceding 
winter,  during  which  they  had  often  met  in  San 
Francisco.  When  Mr.  Lombard  heard  that  Miss 
Dwyer  and  Mrs.  Eustis,  her  invalid  sister,  were 
going  East  in  April,  he  discovered  that  he  would 
have  business  to  attend  to  in  New  York  at  about 
that  time;  and  oddly  enough,  —  that  is,  if  you 
choose  to  take  that  view  of  it,  —  when  the  ladies 
came  to  go,  it  turned  out  that  Lombard  had  taken 
his  ticket  for  the  selfsame  train  and  identical 
sleeping-car.  The  result  of  which  was  that  he  had 
the  privilege  of  handing  Miss  Dwyer  in  and  out  at 
the  eating-stations,  of  bringing  Mrs.  Eustis  her 
cup  of  tea  in  the  car,  and  of  sharing  Miss  Dwyer's 
seat  and  monopolizing  her  conversation  when  he 
had  a  mind  to,  which  was  most  of  the  time.  A 
bright  and  congenial  companion  has  this  advantage 
over  a  book,  that  he  or  she  is  an  author  whom  you 
can  make  discourse  on  any  subject  you  please,  in 
stead  of  being  obliged  to  follow  an  arbitrary  selec- 


DESERTED  241 

tion  by  another,  as  when  you  commune  with  the 
printed  page. 

By  way  of  peace-offering  for  his  blasphemy  in 
calling  the  Nevada  desert  a  leper,  Lombard  had 
embezzled  a  couple  of  chairs  from  the  smoking- 
room  and  carried  them  to  the  rear  platform  of  the 
car,  which  happened  to  be  the  last  of  the  train, 
and  invited  Miss  Dwyer  to  come  thither  and  see 
the  scenery.  Whether  she  had  wanted  to  pardon 
him  or  not,  he  knew  very  well  that  this  was  a 
temptation  which  she  could  not  resist,  for  the  rear 
platform  was  the  best  spot  for  observation  on  the 
entire  train,  unless  it  were  the  cowcatcher  of  the 
locomotive. 

The  April  sun  mingled  with  the  frosty  air  like 
whiskey  with  ice-water,  producing  an  effect  cool 
but  exhilarating.  As  she  sat  in  the  door  of  the 
little  passage  leading  to  the  platform,  she  scarcely 
needed  the  shawl  which  he  wrapped  about  her 
with  absurdly  exaggerated  solicitude.  One  of  the 
most  unmistakable  symptoms  of  the  lover  is  the 
absorbing  and  superfluous  care  with  which  he 
adjusts  the  wraps  about  the  object  of  his  affec 
tions  whether  the  weather  be  warm  or  cold  :  it  is 
as  if  he  thought  he  could  thus  artificially  warm 
her  heart  toward  him.  But  Miss  Dwyer  did  not 
appear  vexed,  pretending  indeed  to  be  oblivious 
of  everything  else  in  admiration  of  the  spectacle 
before  her. 

The  country  stretched  flat  and  bare  as  a  table 


242  DESERTED 

for  fifty  miles  on  either  side  the  track,  —  a  dis 
tance  looking  in  the  clear  air  not  over  one  fifth  as 
great.  On  every  side  this  great  plain  was  circled 
by  mountains,  the  reddish-brown  sides  of  some  of 
them  bare  to  the  summits,  while  others  were  robed 
in  folds  of  glistening  snow  and  looked  like  white 
curtains  drawn  part  way  up  the  sky.  The  whitey- 
gray  of  the  alkali-patches,  the  brown  of  the  dry 
earth,  and  the  rusty  green  of  the  sagebrush  filled 
the  foreground,  melting  in  the  distance  into  a 
purple-gray.  The  wondrous  dryness  and  clearness 
of  the  air  lent  to  these  modest  tints  a  tone  and 
dazzling  brilliance  that  surprised  the  eye  with  a 
revelation  of  possibilities  never  before  suspected 
in  them.  But  the  mountains  were  the  greatest 
wonder.  It  was  as  if  the  skies,  taking  pity  on 
their  nakedness,  had  draped  their  majestic  shoul 
ders  in  imperial  purple,  while  at  this  hour  the 
westering  sun  tipped  their  pinnacles  with  gilt.  In 
the  distance  half  a  dozen  sand-spouts,  swiftly-mov 
ing  white  pillars,  looking  like  desert  genii  with  too 
much  "  tanglefoot  "  aboard,  were  careering  about 
in  every  direction. 

But  as  Lombard  pointed  out  the  various  features 
of  the  scene  to  his  companion,  I  fear  that  his  chief 
motive  was  less  an  admiration  of  Nature  that 
sought  sympathy  than  a  selfish  delight  in  making 
her  eyes  flash,  seeing  the  color  come  and  go  in  her 
cheeks,  and  hearing  her  charming  unstudied  excla 
mations  of  pleasure,  —  a  delight  not  unmingled 


DESERTED  243 

with  complacency  in  associating  himself  in  her 
mind  with  emotions  of  delight  and  admiration.  It 
is  appalling,  the  extent  to  which  spoony  young 
people  make  the  admiration  of  Nature  in  her 
grandest  forms  a  mere  sauce  to  their  love-making. 
The  roar  of  Niagara  has  been  notoriously  utilized 
as  a  cover  to  unlimited  osculation,  and  Adolphus 
looks  up  at  the  sky-cleaving  peak  of  Mont  Blanc 
only  to  look  down  at  Angelina's  countenance  with 
a  more  vivid  appreciation  of  its  superior  attrac 
tions. 

It  was  delicious,  Lombard  thought,  sitting  there 
with  her  on  the  rear  platform,  out  of  sight  and 
sound  of  everybody.  He  had  such  a  pleasant  sense 
of  proprietorship  in  her  !  How  agreeable  —  flat 
teringly  so,  in  fact  —  she  had  been  all  day ! 
There  was  nothing  like  traveling  together  to  make 
people  intimate.  It  was  clear  that  she  understood 
his  intentions  very  well :  indeed,  how  could  she 
help  it  ?  He  had  always  said  that  a  fellow  had 
shown  himself  a  bungler  at  love-making  if  he  were 
not  practically  assured  of  the  result  before  he  came 
to  the  point  of  the  declaration.  The  sensation  of 
leaving  everything  else  so  rapidly  behind  that  peo 
ple  have  when  sitting  on  the  rear  platform  of  a 
train  of  cars  makes  them  feel,  by  force  of  contrast, 
nearer  to  each  other  and  more  identified.  How 
pretty  she  looked  sitting  there  in  the  doorway,  her 
eyes  bent  so  pensively  on  the  track  behind  as  the 
car-wheels  so  swiftly  reeled  it  oft !  He  had  tucked 


244  DESERTED 

her  in  comfortably.  No  cold  could  get  to  the 
sweet  little  girl,  and  none  ever  should  so  long  as 
he  lived  to  make  her  comfort  his  care. 

One  small  gloved  hand  lay  on  her  lap  outside 
the  shawl.  What  a  jolly  little  hand  it  was  !  He 
reached  out  his  own  and  took  it,  but,  without  even 
a  moment's  hesitation  for  him  to  extract  a  flatter 
ing  inference  from,  she  withdrew  it.  Perhaps 
something  in  his  matter-of-course  way  displeased 
her. 

To  know  when  it  is  best  to  submit  to  a  partial 
rebuff,  rather  than  make  a  bad  matter  worse  by 
trying  to  save  one's  pride,  is  a  rare  wisdom.  Still, 
Lombard  might  have  exercised  it  at  another  time. 
But  there  are  days  when  the  magnetisms  are  all 
wrong,  and  a  person  not  ordinarily  deficient  in 
tact,  having  begun  wrong,  goes  on  blundering  like 
a  schoolboy.  Piqued  at  the  sudden  shock  to  the 
pleasant  day-dream,  in  which  he  had  fancied  him 
self  already  virtually  assured  of  this  young  lady,  — 
a  day-dream  which  she  was  not  really  accountable 
for  spoiling,  since  she  had  not  been  privy  -to  it,  — 
what  should  he  do  but  find  expression  for  his 
mingled  vexation  and  wounded  affection  by  re 
minding  her  of  a  previous  occasion  on  which  she 
had  allowed  him  the  liberty  she  now  denied? 
Doubtless  helping  to  account  for  this  lack  of  tact 
was  the  idea  that  he  should  thus  justify  himself 
for  so  far  presuming  just  now.  Not,  of  course, 
that  there  is  really  any  excuse  for  a  young  man's 


DESERTED  245 

forgetting  that  ladies  have  one  advantage  over 
Omniscience,  in  that  not  only  are  they  privileged 
to  remember  what  they  please,  but  also  to  ignore 
what  they  see  fit  to  forget. 

44  You  have  forgotten  that  evening  at  the  Cali 
fornia  Theatre,"  was  what  this  devoted  youth 
said. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  to  what  you  refer,  sir," 
she  replied  freezingly. 

He  was  terrified  at  the  distant  accent  of  her 
voice.  It  appeared  to  come  from  somewhere  be 
yond  the  fixed  stars,  and  brought  the  chill  of  the 
interstellar  spaces  with  it.  He  forgot  in  an  in 
stant  all  about  his  pique,  vexation,  and  wounded 
pride,  and  was  in  a  panic  of  anxiety  to  bring  her 
back.  In  a  moment  more  he  knew  that  she  would 
rise  from  her  chair  and  remark  that  it  was  getting 
cold  and  she  must  go  in.  If  he  allowed  her  to  de 
part  in  that  mood,  he  might  lose  her  forever.  He 
could  think  of  but  one  way  of  convincing  her  in 
stantaneously  of  his  devotion  ;  and  so  what  should 
he  do  but  take  the  most  inopportune  occasion  in 
the  entire  course  of  their  acquaintance  to  make  his 
declaration.  He  was  like  a  general  whose  plan  of 
battle  has  been  completely  deranged  by  an  utterly 
unexpected  repulse  in  a  preliminary  movement, 
compelling  him  to  hurry  forward  his  last  reserves 
in  a  desperate  attempt  to  restore  the  battle. 

"  What  have  I  done,  Miss  Dwyer  ?  Don't  you 
know  that  I  love  you  ?  Won't  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 


246  DESERTED 

"  No,  sir,"  she  said  flatly,  her  taste  outraged  and 
her  sensibilities  set  on  edge  by  the  stupid,  blunder 
ing,  hammer-and-tongs  onset  which  from  first  to 
last  he  had  made.  She  loved  him,  and  had  meant 
to  accept  him,  but  if  she  had  loved  him  ten  times 
as  much  she  couldn't  have  helped  refusing  him 
just  then,  under  those  circumstances,  —  not  if  she 
died  for  it.  As  she  spoke,  she  rose  and  disappeared 
within  the  car.  It  is  certainly  to  be  hoped  that  the 
noise  of  the  wheels,  which  out  on  the  platform  was 
considerable,  prevented  the  recording  angel  from 
getting  the  full  force  of  Lombard's  ejaculation. 

It  is  bad  enough  to  be  refused  when  the  delicacy 
and  respectfulness  of  the  lady's  manner  make 
"No"  sound  so  much  like  "Yes"  that  the  re 
jected  lover  can  almost  persuade  himself  that  his 
ears  have  deceived  him.  It  is  bad  enough  to  be 
refused  when  she  does  it  so  timidly  and  shrinkingly 
and  deprecatingly  that  it  might  be  supposed  she 
were  the  rejected  party.  It  is  bad  enough  to  be 
refused  when  she  expresses  the  hope  that  you  will 
always  be  friends,  and  shows  a  disposition  to  make 
profuse  amends  in  general  agreeableness  for  the 
consummate  favor  which  she  is  forced  to  decline 
you.  Not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  it,  it  is 
bad  enough  to  be  refused  anyhow  you  can  arrange 
the  circumstances,  but  to  be  refused  as  Lombard 
had  been,  with  a  petulance  as  wounding  to  his  dig 
nity  as  was  the  refusal  itself  to  his  affections,  is  to 
take  a  bitter  pill  with  an  asafoatida  coating. 


DESERTED  247 

In  the  limp  and  demoralized  condition  in  which 
he  was  left,  the  only  clear  sentiment  in  his  mind 
was  that  he  did  not  want  to  meet  her  again  just  at 
present.  So  he  sat  for  an  hour  or  more  longer  out 
on  the  platform,  and  had  become  as  thoroughly 
chilled  without  as  he  was  within  when  at  dusk  the 
train  stopped  at  a  little  three-house  station  for  sup 
per.  Then  he  went  into  one  of  the  forward  day- 
cars,  not  intending  to  return  to  the  sleeping-car 
till  Miss  Dwyer  should  have  retired.  When  the 
train  reached  Ogden  the  next  morning,  instead  of 
going  on  East  he  would  take  the  same  train  back 
to  San  Francisco,  and  that  would  be  the  end  of 
his  romance.  His  engagement  in  New  York  had 
been  a  myth,  and  with  Miss  Dwyer's  "  No,  sir,"  the 
only  business  with  the  East  that  had  brought  him 
on  this  trip  was  at  an  end. 

About  an  hour  after  leaving  the  supper-station, 
the  train  suddenly  stopped  in  the  midst  of  the 
desert.  Something  about  the  engine  had  become 
disarranged,  which  it  would  take  some  time  to  put 
right.  Glad  to  improve  an  opportunity  to  stretch 
their  legs,  many  of  the  passengers  left  the  cars  and 
were  strolling  about,  curiously  examining  the  sage 
brush  and  the  alkali,  and  admiring  the  ghostly 
plain  as  it  spread,  bare,  level,  and  white  as  an  ice 
bound  polar  sea,  to  the  feet  of  the  far-off  moun 
tains. 

Lombard  had  also  left  the  car,  and  was  walking 
about,  his  hands  in  his  overcoat  pockets,  trying  to 


248  DESERTED 

clear  his  mind  of  the  wreckage  that  obstructed  its 
working ;  for  Miss  Dwyer's  refusal  had  come  upon 
him  as  a  sudden  squall  that  carries  away  the  masts 
and  sails  of  a  vessel  and  transforms  it  in  a  moment 
from  a  gallant  bounding  ship  to  a  mere  hulk  drift 
ing  in  an  entangled  mass  of  debris.  Of  course  she 
had  a  perfect  right  to  suit  herself  about  the  kind 
of  a  man  she  took  for  a  husband,  but  he  certainly 
had  not  thought  she  was  such  an  utter  coquette. 
If  ever  a  woman  gave  a  man  reason  to  think  him 
self  as  good  as  engaged,  she  had  given  him  that 
reason,  and  yet  she  refused  him  as  coolly  as  she  would 
have  declined  a  second  plate  of  soup.  There  must 
be  some  truth,  after  all,  in  the  rant  of  the  poets 
about  the  heartlessness  and  fickleness  of  women, 
although  he  had  always  been  used  to  consider  it 
the  merest  bosh.  Suddenly  he  heard  the  train 
moving.  He  was  perhaps  fifty  yards  off,  and, 
grumbling  anathemas  at  the  stupidity  of  the  con 
ductor,  started  to  run  for  the  last  car.  He  was 
not  quite  desperate  enough  to  fancy  being  left 
alone  on  the  Nevada  desert  with  night  coming  on. 
He  would  have  caught  the  train  without  difficulty, 
if  his  foot  had  not  happened  to  catch  in  a  tough 
clump  of  sage,  throwing  him  violently  to  the 
ground.  As  he  gathered  himself  up,  the  train  was 
a  hundred  yards  off,  and  moving  rapidly.  To 
overtake  it  was  out  of  the  question. 

"  Stop !  ho !  stop  ! "  he  yelled  at  the  top  of  his 
lungs.     But  there  was  no  one  on  the  rear  platform 


DESERTED  249 

to  see  him,  and  the  closed  windows  and  the  rattle 
of  the  wheels  were  sufficient  to  render  a  much 
louder  noise  than  he  could  make  inaudible  to  the 
dozing  passengers.  And  now  the  engineer  pulled 
out  the  throttle-valve  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  and 
the  clatter  of  the  train  faded  into  a  distant  roar, 
and  its  lights  began  to  twinkle  into  indistinctness. 

"  Damnation !  " 

A  voice  fell  like  a  falling  star :  "  Gentlemen  do 
not  use  profane  language  in  ladies'  company." 

He  first  looked  up  in  the  air,  as  on  the  whole 
the  likeliest  quarter  for  a  voice  to  come  from  in 
this  desert,  then  around.  Just  on  the  other  side 
of  the  track  stood  Miss  Dwyer,  smiling,  with  a 
somewhat  constrained  attempt  at  self-possession. 
Lombard  was  a  good  deal  taken  aback,  but  in  his 
surprise  he  did  not  forget  that  this  was  the  young 
lady  who  had  refused  him  that  afternoon. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  replied,  with  a  stiff 
bow;  "I  did  not  suppose  that  there  were  any 
ladies  within  hearing." 

"  I  got  out  of  the  car  supposing  there  was  plenty 
of  time  to  get  a  specimen  of  sagebrush  to  carry 
home,"  she  explained  ;  "  but  when  the  cars  started, 
although  I  was  but  a  little  way  off,  I  could  not  re 
gain  the  platform  ; "  which,  considering  that  she 
wore  a  tie-back  of  the  then  prevalent  fashion,  was 
not  surprising. 

"  Indeed  !  "  replied  Lombard,  with  the  same  for 
mal  manner. 


250  DESERTED 

"  But  won't  the  train  come  back  for  us  ?  "  she 
asked,  in  a  more  anxious  voice. 

"  That  will  depend  on  whether  we  are  missed. 
Nobody  will  miss  me.  Mrs.  Eustis,  if  she  has  n't 
gone  to  bed,  may  miss  you." 

"  But  she  has.  She  went  to  bed  before  I  left 
the  car,  and  is  asleep  by  this  time." 

"  That 's  unfortunate,"  was  his  brief  reply,  as  he 
lit  a  cigar  and  began  to  smoke  and  contemplate  the 
stars. 

His  services,  so  far  as  he  could  do  anything  for 
her,  she  should,  as  a  lady,  command,  but  if  she 
thought  that  he  was  going  to  do  the  agreeable 
after  what  had  happened  a  few  hours  ago,  she  was 
mightily  mistaken. 

There  was  a  silence,  and  then  she  said,  hesitat 
ingly,  "  What  are  we  going  to  do  ?  " 

He  glanced  at  her.  Her  attitude  and  the 
troubled  expression  of  her  face,  as  well  as  her  voice, 
indicated  that  the  logic  of  the  situation  was  over 
throwing  the  jaunty  self-possession  which  she  had 
at  first  affected.  The  desert  was  staring  her  out 
of  countenance.  How  his  heart  yearned  toward 
her !  If  she  had  only  given  him  a  right  to  take 
care  of  her,  how  he  would  comfort  her !  what  pro 
digies  would  he  be  capable  of  to  succor  her  !  But 
this  rising  impulse  of  tenderness  was  turned  to 
choking  bitterness  by  the  memory  of  that  scornful 
"  No,  sir."  So  he  replied  coldly,  "  I  'm  not  in  the 
habit  of  being  left  behind  in  deserts,  and  I  don't 


DESERTED  251 

know  what  it  is  customary  to  do  in  such  cases.  I 
see  nothing  except  to  wait  for  the  next  train,  which 
will  come  along  some  time  within  twenty-four 
hours." 

There  was  another  long  silence,  after  which  she 
said,  in  a  timid  voice,  "  Had  n't  we  better  walk  to 
the  next  station  ?  " 

At  the  suggestion  of  walking  he  glanced  at  her 
close-fitting  dress,  and  a  sardonic  grin  slightly 
twitched  the  corners  of  his  mouth  as  he  dryly  an 
swered,  "  It  is  thirty  miles  one  way  and  twenty  the 
other  to  the  first  station." 

Several  minutes  passed  before  she  spoke  again, 
and  then  she  said,  with  an  accent  almost  like  that 
of  a  child  in  trouble  and  about  to  cry,  "  I  'm  cold." 

The  strong,  unceasing  wind,  blowing  from  snowy 
mountain-caverns  across  a  plain  on  which  there 
was  not  the  slightest  barrier  of  hill  or  tree  to  check 
its  violence,  was  indeed  bitterly  cold,  and  Lom 
bard  himself  felt  chilled  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones. 
He  took  off  his  overcoat  and  offered  it  to  her. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  you  are  as  cold  as  I  am." 

"You  will  please  take  it,"  he  replied,  in  a  per 
emptory  manner ;  and  she  took  it. 

"At  this  rate  we  shall  freeze  to  death  before 
midnight,"  he  added,  as  if  in  soliloquy.  "  I  must 
see  if  I  can't  contrive  to  make  some  sort  of  a  shel 
ter  with  this  sagebrush." 

He  began  by  tearing  up  a  large  number  of  bushes 
by  the  roots.  Seeing  what  he  was  doing,  Miss 


252  DESERTED 

Dwyer  was  glad  to  warm  her  stiffened  muscles  by 
taking  hold  and  helping  ;  which  she  did  with  a 
vigor  that  shortly  reduced  her  gloves  to  shreds  and 
filled  her  fingers  with  scratches  from  the  rough 
twigs.  Lombard  next  chose  an  unusually  high 
and  thick  clump  of  brush,  and  cleared  a  small 
space  three  feet  across  in  the  centre  of  it,  scattering 
twigs  on  the  uncovered  earth  to  keep  off  its  chill. 

"  Now,  Miss  Dwyer,  if  you  will  step  inside  this 
spot,  I  think  I  can  build  up  the  bushes  around  us 
so  as  to  make  a  sort  of  booth  which  may  save  us 
from  freezing." 

She  silently  did  as  he  directed,  arid  he  proceeded 
to  pile  the  brush  which  they  had  torn  up  on  the 
tops  of  the  bushes  left  standing  around  the  spot 
where  they  were,  thus  making  a  circular  wall  about 
three  feet  high.  Over  the  top  he  managed  to  draw 
together  two  or  three  bushes,  and  the  improvised 
wigwam  was  complete. 

The  moonlight  penetrated  the  loose  roof  suffi 
ciently  to  reveal  to  each  other  the  faces  and  figures 
of  the  two  occupants  as  they  sat  in  opposite  corners, 
as  far  apart  as  possible,  she  cold  and  miserable,  he 
cold  and  sulky,  and  both  silent.  And,  as  if  to 
mock  him,  the  idea  kept  recurring  to  his  mind 
how  romantic  and  delightful,  in  spite  of  the  cold 
and  discomfort,  the  situation  would  be  if  she  had 
only  said  Yes,  instead  of  No,  that  afternoon.  Peo 
ple  have  odd  notions  sometimes,  and  it  actually 
seemed  to  him  that  his  vexation  with  her  for  de- 


DESERTED  253 

stroying  the  pleasure  of  the  present  occasion  was 
something  quite  apart  from,  and  in  addition  to,  his 
main  grievance  against  her.  It  might  have  been  so 
jolly,  and  now  she  had  spoiled  it.  He  could  have 
boxed  her  pretty  little  ears. 

She  wondered  why  he  did  not  try  to  light  a  fire, 
but  she  would  n't  ask  him  another  thing,  if  she 
died.  In  point  of  fact,  he  knew  the  sagebrush 
would  not  burn.  Suddenly  the  wind  blew  fiercer, 
there  came  a  rushing  sound,  and  the  top  and  walls 
of  the  wigwam  were  whisked  off  like  a  flash,  and 
as  they  staggered  to  their  feet,  buffeted  by  the 
whirling  bushes,  a  cloud  of  fine  alkali-dust  envel 
oped  them,  blinding  their  eyes,  penetrating  their 
ears  and  noses,  and  setting  them  gasping,  sneezing, 
and  coughing  spasmodically.  Then,  like  a  puff  of 
smoke,  the  suffocating  storm  was  dissipated,  and 
when  they  opened  their  smarting  eyes  there  was 
nothing  but  the  silent,  glorious  desolation  of  the 
ghostly  desert  around  them,  with  the  snow-peaks 
in  the  distance  glittering  beneath  the  moon.  A 
sand-spout  had  struck  them,  that  was  all,  —  one  of 
the  whirling  dust-columns  which  they  had  admired 
all  day  from  the  car-windows. 

Wretched  enough  before,  both  for  physical  and 
sentimental  reasons,  this  last  experience  quite 
demoralized  Miss  Dwyer,  and  she  sat  down  and 
cried.  Now,  a  few  tears,  regarded  from  a  practi 
cal,  middle-aged  point  of  view,  would  not  appear 
to  have  greatly  complicated  the  situation,  but  they 


254  DESERTED 

threw  Lombard  into  a  panic.  If  she  was  going  to 
cry,  something  must  be  done.  Whether  anything 
could  be  done  or  not,  something  must  be  done. 

"  Don't  leave  me,"  she  cried  hysterically,  as  he 
rushed  off  to  reconnoitre  the  vicinity. 

"  I  '11  return  presently,"  he  called  back. 

But  five  minutes,  ten  minutes,  fifteen  minutes 
passed,  and  he  did  not  come  back.  Terror  dried 
her  tears,  and  her  heart  almost  stopped  beating. 
She  had  quite  given  him  up  for  lost,  and  herself 
too,  when  with  inexpressible  relief  she  heard  him 
call  to  her.  She  replied,  and  in  a  moment  more 
he  was  at  her  side,  breathless  with  running. 

"  I  lost  my  bearings,"  he  said.  "  If  you  had 
not  answered  me,  I  could  not  have  found  you." 

"Don't  leave  me  again,"  she  sobbed,  clinging 
to  his  arm. 

He  put  his  arms  round  her  and  kissed  her.  It 
was  mean,  base,  contemptible,  to  take  advantage  of 
her  agitation  in  that  way,  but  she  did  not  resist, 
and  he  did  it  again  and  again,  —  I  forbear  to  say 
how  many  times. 

"  Is  n't  it  a  perfectly  beautiful  night  ?  "  he  ex 
claimed,  with  a  fine  gush  of  enthusiasm. 

"  Is  n't  it  exquisite  ?  "  she  echoed,  with  a  rush  of 
sympathetic  feeling. 

"  See  those  stars :  they  look  as  if  they  had  just 
been  polished,"  he  cried. 

"  What  a  droll  idea !  "  she  exclaimed  gleefully. 
"  But  do  see  that  lovely  mountain." 


DESERTED  255 

Holding  her  with  a  firmer  clasp,  and  speaking 
with  what  might  be  styled  a  fierce  tenderness,  he 
demanded,  "  What  did  you  mean,  miss,  by  refus 
ing  me  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"What  did  you  go  at  me  so  stupidly  for?  I 
had  to  refuse,"  she  retorted  smilingly. 

"  Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  meant  to  be  all  the  time." 

The  contract  having  been  properly  sealed,  Lom 
bard  said,  with  a  countenance  curiously  divided 
between  a  tragical  expression  and  a  smile  of  fatu 
ous  complacency,  "  There  was  a  clear  case  of  poeti 
cal  justice  in  your  being  left  behind  in  the  desert 
to-night.  To  see  the  lights  of  the  train  disappear 
ing,  leaving  you  alone  in  the  midst  of  desolation, 
gave  you  a  touch  of  my  feeling  on  being  rejected 
this  afternoon.  Of  all  leavings  behind,  there 's 
none  so  miserable  as  the  experience  of  the  rejected 
lover." 

"  Poor  fellow !  so  he  should  n't  be  left  behind. 
He  shall  be  conductor  of  the  train,"  she  said,  with 
a  bewitching  laugh.  His  response  was  not  verbal. 

"  How  cold  the  wind  is  !  "  she  said. 

"  Shall  I  build  you  another  wigwam  ?  " 

"  No ;  let  us  exercise  a  little.  You  whistle  '  The 
Beautiful  Blue  Danube,'  and  we  '11  waltz.  This 
desert  is  the  biggest,  jolliest  ball-room  floor  that 
ever  was,  and  I  dare  say  we  shall  be  the  first  to 
waltz  on  it  since  the  creation  of  the  world.  That 
will  be  something  to  boast  of  when  we  get  home. 


256  DESERTED 

Come,  let 's  dedicate  the  Great  American  Desert 
to  Terpsichore." 

They  stepped  out  from  among  the  ruins  of  their 
sagebrush  booth  upon  a  patch  of  hard,  bare  earth 
close  to  the  railroad  track.  Lombard  puckered 
his  lips  and  struck  up  the  air,  and  off  they  went 
with  as  much  enthusiasm  as  if  inspired  by  a  first- 
class  orchestra.  Round  and  round,  to  and  fro, 
they  swept  until,  laughing,  flushed,  and  panting, 
they  came  to  a  stop. 

It  was  then  that  they  first  perceived  that  they 
were  not  without  a  circle  of  appreciative  spectators. 
Sitting  like  statues  on  their  sniffing,  pawing  ponies, 
a  dozen  Piute  Indians  encircled  them.  Engrossed 
with  the  dance  and  with  each  other,  they  had  not 
noticed  them  as  they  rode  up,  attracted  from  their 
route  by  this  marvelous  spectacle  of  a  pale-face 
squaw  and  brave  engaged  in  a  solitary  war  dance 
in  the  midst  of  the  desert. 

At  sight  of  the  grim  circle  of  centaurs  around 
them  Miss  Dwyer  would  have  fainted  but  for 
Lombard's  firm  hold. 

"  Pretend  not  to  see  them  ;  keep  on  dancing," 
he  hissed  in  her  ear.  He  had  no  distinct  plan  in 
what  he  said,  but  spoke  merely  from  an  instinct  of 
self-preservation,  which  told  him  that  when  they 
stopped,  the  Indians  would  be  upon  them.  But 
as  she  mechanically,  and  really  more  dead  than 
alive,  obeyed  his  direction  and  resumed  the  dance, 
and  he  in  his  excitement  was  treading  on  her  feet 


DESERTED  257 

at  every  step,  the  thought  flashed  upon  him  that 
there  was  a  bare  chance  of  escaping  violence,  if 
they  could  keep  the  Indians  interested  without 
appearing  to  notice  their  presence.  In  successive 
whispers  he  communicated  his  idea  to  Miss  Dyer  : 
"  Don't  act  as  if  you  saw  them  at  all,  but  do  every 
thing  as  if  we  were  alone.  That  will  puzzle  them, 
and  make  them  think  us  supernatural  beings,  or 
perhaps  crazy :  Indians  have  great  respect  for 
crazy  people.  It 's  our  only  chance.  We  will  stop 
dancing  now,  and  sing  awhile.  Give  them  a  bur 
lesque  of  opera.  I  '11  give  you  the  cues  and  show 
you  how.  Don't  be  frightened.  I  don't  believe 
they  '11  touch  us  so  long  as  we  act  as  if  we  did  n't 
see  them.  Do  you  understand  ?  Can  you  do  your 
part?" 

"  I  understand  ;  I  '11  try,"  she  whispered. 

"Now,"  he  said,  and  as  they  separated,  he  threw 
his  hat  on  the  ground,  and,  assuming  an  extrava 
gantly  languishing  attitude,  burst  forth  in  a  most 
poignant  burlesque  of  a  lovelorn  tenor's  part,  roll 
ing  his  eyes,  clasping  his  hands,  striking  his  breast, 
and  gyrating  about  Miss  Dwyer  in  the  most  ap 
proved  operatic  style.  He  had  a  fine  voice  and 
knew  a  good  deal  of  music ;  so  that,  barring  a  cer 
tain  nervousness  in  the  performer,  the  exhibition 
was  really  not  bad.  In  his  singing  he  had  used  a 
meaningless  gibberish  varied  with  the  syllables  of 
the  scale,  but  he  closed  by  singing  the  words,  "  Are 
you  ready  now  ?  Go  ahead,  then." 


258  DESERTED 

With  that  she  took  it  up,  and  rendered  the  prim  a 
donna  quite  as  effectively,  interjecting  "  The  Last 
Rose  of  Summer  "  as  an  aria  in  a  manner  that 
would  have  been  encored  in  San  Francisco.  He  re 
sponded  with  a  few  staccato  notes,  and  the  scene 
ended  by  their  rushing  into  each  other's  arms  and 
waltzing  down  the  stage  with  abandon. 

The  Indians  sat  motionless  on  their  horses,  not 
even  exchanging  comments  among  themselves. 
They  were  evidently  too  utterly  astonished  by  the 
goings  on  before  them  to  have  any  other  sentiment 
as  yet  beyond  pure  amazement.  Here  were  two 
richly-dressed  pale-faces,  such  as  only  lived  in 
cities,  out  in  the  middle  of  an  uninhabitable  desert, 
in  the  freezing  midnight,  having  a  variety  and 
minstrel  show  all  to  themselves,  and,  to  make  the 
exhibition  the  more  unaccountable,  without  appar 
ently  seeing  their  auditors  at  all.  Had  they  started 
up  the  show  after  being  captured,  Indian  cunning 
would  have  recognized  in  it  a  device  to  save  their 
lives,  but  the  two  had  been  at  it  before  the  party 
rode  up,  —  had,  in  fact,  first  attracted  attention  by 
their  gyrations,  which  were  visible  for  miles  out  on 
the  moony  plain. 

Lombard,  without  ever  letting  his  eyes  rest  a 
moment  on  the  Indians  so  as  to  indicate  that  he 
saw  them,  had  still  managed  by  looks  askance  and 
sweeping  glances  to  keep  close  watch  upon  their 
demeanor,  and  noted  with  prodigious  relief  that 
his  wild  scheme  was  succeeding  better  than  he  had 


DESERTED  259 

dared  to  hope.  Without  any  break  in  the  enter 
tainment  he  communicated  his  reassurance  to  Miss 
Dwyer  by  singing,  to  the  tune  of  "My  Country, 
't  is  of  Thee,"  the  following  original  hymn  :  — 

"We  're  doing  admir'blee  — 
They  're  heap  much  tickledee : 
Only  keep  on.'' 

To  which  she  responded,  to  the  lugubrious  air  of 
"  John  Brown's  Body :  "  — 

"  Oh,  what  do  you  s'pose  they  '11  go  for  to  do, 
Oh,  what  do  you  s'pose  they  '11  go  for  to  do, 
Oh,  what  do  you  s'pose  they  '11  go  for  to  do, 
When  we  can  sing  no  more  ?  " 

A  thing  may  be  ridiculous  without  being  amus 
ing,  and  neither  of  these  two  felt  the  least  inclina 
tion  to  smile  at  each  other's  poetry.  After  duly 
joining  in  the  chorus  of  "  Glory,  Hallelujah ! "  Lom 
bard  endeavored  to  cheer  his  companion  by  words 
adapted  to  the  inspiriting  air  of  "  Rally  Round  the 
Flag,  Boys."  This  was  followed  by  a  series  of 
popular  airs,  with  solos,  duets,  and  choruses. 

But  this  sort  of  thing  could  not  go  on  forever. 
Lombard  was  becoming  exhausted  in  voice  and 
legs,  and  as  for  Miss  Dwyer,  he  was  expecting  to 
see  her  drop  from  moment  to  moment.  Indeed,  to 
the  air  of  "'Way  down  upon  the  Swanee  River" 
she  now  began  to  sing :  — 

"  Oh,  dear !  I  can't  bear  up  much  longer : 

I  'm  tired  to  death  ; 
My  voice  's  gone  all  to  pie-ee-ee-ces, 
My  throat  is  very  sore." 


260  DESERTED 

They  must  inevitably  give  out  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  he  —  and,  terribly  worse,  she  —  would  be 
at  the  mercy  of  these  bestial  savages,  and  this  seem 
ing  farce  would  turn  into  most  revolting  tragedy. 
With  this  sickening  conviction  coming  over  him, 
Lombard  cast  a  despairing  look  around  the  horizon 
to  see  if  there  were  no  help  in  their  bitter  extrem 
ity.  Suddenly  he  burst  forth,  to  the  tune  of  "  The 
Star-Spangled  Banner :  " 

"  Oh,  say  can  you  see, 
Far  away  to  the  east, 
A  bright  star  that  doth  grow 
Momentarily  brighter  ? 
'Tis  the  far-flashing  headlight 
Of  a  railroad-train : 
Ten  minutes  from  now 
We  shall  be  safe  and  sound." 

What  they  did  in  those  ten  minutes  neither  could 
tell  afterward.  The  same  idea  was  in  both  their 
minds,  —  that  unless  the  attention  of  the  Indians 
could  be  held  until  the  train  arrived,  its  approach 
would  only  precipitate  their  own  fate  by  impelling 
the  savages  to  carry  out  whatever  designs  of  mur 
der,  insult,  or  capture  they  might  have.  Under 
the  influence  of  the  intense  excitement  of  this  crit 
ical  interval  it  is  to  be  feared  that  the  performance 
degenerated  from  a  high-toned  concert  and  variety 
show  into  something  very  like  a  Howling-Dervish 
exhibition.  But,  at  any  rate,  it  answered  its  pur 
pose  until,  after  a  period  that  seemed  like  a  dozen 
eternities,  the  West-bound  overland  express  with  a 


DESERTED  261 

tremendous  roar  and  rattle  drew  up  beside  them, 
in  response  to  the  waving  of  Miss  Dwyer's  hand 
kerchief  and  to  Lombard's  shouts. 

Even  had  the  Indians  contemplated  hostile  inten 
tions,  —  which  they  were  doubtless  in  a  condition 
of  too  great  general  stupefaction  to  do,  —  the  alac 
rity  with  which  the  two  performers  clambered 
aboard  the  cars  would  probably  have  foiled  their 
designs.  But  as  the  train  gathered  headway  once 
more,  Lombard  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of 
venting  his  feelings  by  shaking  his  fist  ferociously 
at  the  audience  which  he  had  been  so  conscien 
tiously  trying  to  please  up  to  that  moment.  It  was 
a  gratification  which  had  like  to  have  cost  him 
dear.  There  was  a  quick  motion  on  the  part  of 
one  of  the  Indians,  and  the  conductor  dragged 
Lombard  within  the  car  just  as  an  arrow  struck 
the  door. 

Mrs.  Eustis  had  slept  sweetly  all  night,  and  was 
awakened  the  next  morning  an  hour  before  the 
train  reached  Ogden  by  the  sleeping-car  porter, 
who  gave  her  a  telegram  which  had  overtaken  the 
train  at  the  last  station.  It  read :  — 

Am  safe  and  sound.  Was  left  behind  by  your 
train  last  night,  and  picked  up  by  West-bound 
express.  Will  join  you  at  Ogden  to-morrow  morn 
ing. 

JENNIE  DWYER. 

Mrs.  Eustis  read    the  telegram   through   twice 


262  DESERTED 

without  getting  the  least  idea  from  it.  Then  she 
leaned  over  and  looked  down  into  Jennie's  berth. 
It  had  not  been  slept  in.  Then  she  began  to 
understand.  Heroically  resisting  a  tendency  to 
scream,  she  thus  secured  space  for  second  thought, 
and,  being  a  shrewd  woman  of  the  world,  ended  by 
making  up  her  mind  to  tell  no  one  about  the  mat 
ter.  Evidently,  Jennie  had  been  having  some  de 
cidedly  unconventional  experience,  and  the  less 
publicity  given  to  all  such  passages  in  young  ladies' 
lives,  the  better  for  their  prospects.  It  so  hap 
pened  that  in  the  bustle  attending  the  approach  to 
the  terminus  and  the  prospective  change  of  cars 
everybody  was  too  busy  to  notice  that  any  passen 
gers  were  missing.  At  Ogden  Mrs.  Eustis  left 
the  train  and  went  to  a  hotel.  The  following 
morning,  a  few  minutes  after  the  arrival  of  the 
Central  Pacific  train,  Jennie  Dwyer  walked  into 
her  room,  Lombard  having  stopped  at  the  office  to 
secure  berths  for  the  three  to  Omaha  by  the  Union 
Pacific.  After  Jennie  had  given  an  outline  ac 
count  of  her  experiences,  and  Mrs.  Eustis's  equi 
librium  had  been  measurably  restored  by  proper 
use  of  the  smelling-salts,  the  latter  lady  remarked, 
•  *  3.nd  so  Mr.  Lombard  was  alone  with  you  there 
all  night  ?  It 's  very  unfortunate  that  it  should 
have  happened  so." 

"  Why,  I  was  thinking  it  very  fortunate,"  re 
plied  Jennie,  with  her  most  childlike  expression. 
"  If  Mr.  Lombard  had  not  been  there,  I  should 


DESERTED  263 

either  have  frozen  to  death,  or  by  this  time  been 
celebrating  my  honeymoon  as  bride  of  a  Piute 
chief." 

"  Nonsense,  child !  You  know  what  I  mean. 
People  will  talk ;  such  unpleasant  things  will  be 
said  !  I  would  n't  have  had  it  happen  for  anything. 
And  when  you  were  under  my  charge,  too !  Do 
hand  me  my  salts." 

"  If  people  are  going  to  say  unpleasant  things 
because  I  am  out  of  an  evening  alone  with  Mr. 
Lombard,"  remarked  Jennie,  with  a  mischievous 
smile,  "  you  must  prepare  yourself  to  hear  a  good 
deal  said,  my  dear,  for  I  presume  this  won't  be  the 
last  time  it  will  happen.  We  're  engaged  to  be 
married." 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

THE  train  slackened,  a  brakeman  thrust  his 
head  in  at  the  door  and  shouted  "  Bah,"  —  a  mys 
terious  formality  observed  on  American  trains  as 
they  enter  towns,  —  and  an  elderly  lady,  two  drum 
mers,  and  a  young  man  with  a  satchel  got  out,  fol 
lowed  by  the  languid  envy  of  the  other  passengers, 
who  had  longer  or  shorter  penances  of  heat  and 
dust  before  them.  The  train  got  under  way  again, 
while  the  knot  of  loafers  about  the  station  pro 
ceeded  to  eye  the  arrivals  as  judicially  as  if  they 
were  a  committee  of  safety  to  protect  the  village 
from  invasion  by  doubtful  characters.  The  old 
lady,  apparently  laboring  under  some  such  im 
pression,  regarded  them  deferentially,  as  nervous 
travelers  on  arriving  in  strange  places  generally 
do  regard  everybody  who  seems  to  feel  at  home. 
The  drummers  briskly  disappeared  down  the  main 
street,  each  anxious  to  anticipate  the  other  at  the 
stores.  The  young  man  with  the  satchel,  however, 
did  not  get  away  till  he  had  shaken  hands  and 
exchanged  a  few  good-natured  inquiries  with  one 
of  the  loungers. 

"  Who 's  that,  Bill?  "  asked  one  of  the  group,  star 
ing  after  the  retreating  figure  with  lazy  curiosity. 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  265 

"  Why,  did  n't  you  know  him  ?  Thought  every 
body  knew  him.  That 's  Arthur  Steele,"  replied 
the  one  who  had  shaken  hands,  in  a  tone  of  cor 
diality  indicating  that  his  politeness  had  left  a 
pleasant  impression  on  his  mind,  as  Arthur  Steele's 
politeness  generally  did. 

"  Who  is  he,  anyhow  ?  "  pursued  the  other. 

"  Why,  he  's  a  Fairfield  boy  "  (the  brakeman 
pronounced  it  "Bah"),  "born  and  brought  up 
here.  His  folks  allers  lived  right  next  to  mine,  and 
now  he 's  doin'  a  rushin'  lawyer  trade  down  New 
York,  and  I  expect  he 's  just  rakin'  the  stamps. 
Did  yer  see  that  diamond  pin  he  wore  ?  " 

"  S'pose  it 's  genooine  ?  "  asked  a  third  loafer, 
with  interest. 

"  Course  it  was.  I  tell  you  he 's  on  the  make, 
and  don't  you  forgit  it.  Some  fellers  allers  has 
luck.  Many  's  the  time  he  'n'  I  've  been  in  swim- 
min'  and  hookin'  apples  together  when  we  wuz 
little  chaps,"  pursued  Bill,  in  a  tone  implying  a 
'  mild  reproach  at  the  deceitf ulness  of  an  analogy 
that  after  such  fair  promise  in  early  life  had  failed 
to  complete  itself  in  their  later  fortunes. 

"  Why,  darn  it  all,  you  know  him,  Jim,"  he 
continued,  dropping  the  tone  of  pensive  reminis 
cence  into  which  he  had  momentarily  allowed  him 
self  to  fall.  "  That  pretty  gal  that  sings  in  the 
Baptis'  choir  is  his  sister." 

After  a  space  of  silent  rumination  and  jerking 
of  peanut  shells  upon  the  track,  the  group  broke 


266  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

up  its  session,  and  adjourned  by  tacit  understand 
ing  till  the  next  train  was  due. 

Arthur  Steele  was  half  an  hour  in  getting  to 
his  father's  house,  because  everybody  he  met  on 
the  street  insisted  on  shaking  hands  with  him. 
Everybody  in  Fairfield  had  known  him  since  he  was 
a  boy,  and  had  seen  him  grow  up,  and  all  were 
proud  of  him  as  a  credit  to  the  village  and  one  of 
its  most  successful  representatives  in  the  big  out 
side  world.  The  young  man  had  sense  and  senti 
ment  enough  to  feel  that  the  place  he  held  in  the 
esteem  of  his  native  community  was  a  thing  to  feel 
more  just  pride  in  than  any  station  he  could  win 
in  the  city,  and  as  he  walked  along  hand-shaking 
with  old  friends  on  this  side  and  that,  it  was  about 
his  idea  of  a  triumphal  entry. 

There  was  the  dear  old  house,  and  as  he  saw  it 
his  memory  of  it  started  out  vividly  in  his  mind 
as  if  to  attest  how  faithfully  it  had  kept  each 
detail.  It  never  would  come  out  so  clearly  at 
times  when  he  was  far  away  and  needed  its  com 
fort.  He  opened  the  door  softly.  The  sitting- 
room  was  empty,  and  darkened  to  keep  out  the 
heat  and  flies.  The  latched  door  stood  open,  and, 
hearing  voices,  he  tiptoed  across  the  floor  with  a 
guileful  smile  and,  leaning  through  the  doorway, 
saw  his  mother  and  sister  sitting  by  the  cool,  lilac- 
shaded  window,  picking  over  currants  for  tea,  and 
talking  tranquilly.  Being  a  provident  young  man, 
he  paused  a  minute  to  let  the  pretty,  peaceful  scene 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  267 

impress  itself  upon  his  mind,  to  be  remembered 
afterward  for  the  cheer  of  bleak  boarding-house 
Sunday  afternoons.  Then  there  was  a  sudden 
glancing  up,  a  cry  of  joyful  consternation,  and  the 
pan  of  currants  rolled  from  Amy's  lap  like  a 
broken  necklace  of  rubies  across  the  uncarpeted 
floor,  while  Arthur  held  mother  and  sister  in  a 
double  embrace.  And  when  at  length  the  kissing 
had  all  been  done,  he  established  himself  in  his 
familiar  boyish  attitude  on  the  window-seat,  kick 
ing  his  heels  against  the  mopboard,  with  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  and  the  three  talked  away 
steadily  till  the  shop-bell  rang,  and  Mrs.  Steele 
sprang  up  in  a  panic,  exclaiming :  "  Father  will  be 
here  in  five  minutes,  and  the  currants  are  on  the 
floor.  Come,  Amy,  quick ;  we  must  pick  some 
more,  and  you  shall  help,  Arthur." 

But  though  he  went  out  into  the  garden  with 
them  readily  enough,  it  was  quite  another  thing  to 
make  him  pick  currants,  for  he  insisted  on  wander 
ing  all  over  the  place  and  demanding  what  had 
become  of  everything  he  missed,  and  the  history 
of  everything  new.  And  pretty  soon  Mr.  Steele 
also  appeared  in  the  garden,  having  found  no  one 
in  the  house  on  reaching  home.  He  had  learned 
on  the  street  that  Arthur  had  arrived,  and  came 
out  beaming.  It  was  good  to  see  the  hearty  affec 
tion  with  which  the  two  shook  hands. 

The  transition  of  the  son  from  the  pupilage  of 
childhood  and  youth  to  the  independence  of  man- 


268  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

hood  is  often  trying  to  the  filial  relation.  Neither 
party  fully  realizes  that  the  old  relation  is  at  an 
end,  or  just  what  the  new  basis  is,  or  when  the 
change  takes  place.  The  absence  of  the  son  for 
two  or  three  years  at  this  period  has  often  the  best 
results.  He  goes  a  boy  and  returns  a  man  ;  the 
old  relation  is  forgotten  by  both  parties,  and  they 
readily  fall  into  the  new  one.  So  it  had  fared 
with  Arthur  and  his  father. 

"  You  've  got  a  splendid  lot  of  watermelons," 
said  the  former,  as  they  arrived  at  the  upper  end 
of  the  ample  garden  in  their  tour  of  inspection. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Steele,  with  a  shrug ;  "  only 
thus  far  they've  been  stolen  a  little  faster  than 
they  've  ripened." 

"  What  made  you  plant  them  so  near  the  fence  ?  " 

"  That  was  my  blunder ;  but  you  see  the  soil  is 
just  the  thing,  better  than  lower  down." 

"  Why  don't  you  buy  a  bulldog  ?  " 

"  I  think  it 's  more  Christian  to  shoot  a  man 
outright  than  to  set  one  of  those  devils  on  him. 
The  breed  ought  to  be  extirpated." 

"  Put  some  ipecac  in  one  or  two.  That  '11  fetch 
'em.  I  know  how  sick  it  made  me  once." 

"  I  did ;  but  more  were  stolen  next  night.  I 
can't  afford  to  medicate  the  whole  village.  Last 
night  I  sat  up  to  watch  till  twelve  o'clock,  when 
mother  made  me  go  to  bed." 

"I'll  watch  to-night,"  said  Arthur,  "and  give 
'em  a  lesson  with  a  good  load  of  beans  from  the 
old  shotgun." 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  269 

"  It  would  n't  pay,"  replied  his  father.  "  I  con 
cluded  last  night  that  all  the  melons  in  the  world 
were  n't  worth  a  night's  sleep.  They  '11  have  to  go, 
and  next  year  I  '11  know  more  than  to  plant  any." 

"  You  go  and  help  Amy  pick  currants,  and  let 
me  talk  to  the  boy  a  little,"  said  Mrs.  Steele, 
coming  up  and  taking  Arthur  off  for  a  promenade 
up  the  broad  path. 

"How  pretty  Amy  has  grown,"  said  he,  glan 
cing  with  a  pleased  smile  at  the  girl  as  she  looked 
up  at  her  father.  "  I  suppose  the  young  men  are 
making  sheep's  eyes  at  her  already." 

"  It  does  n't  do  them  any  good  if  they  are,"  said 
Mrs.  Steele,  decisively.  "  She  's  only  sixteen  and 
a  little  girl  yet,  and  has  sense  enough  to  know  it." 

"  What  had  she  been  crying  for  when  I  arrived  ? 
I  saw  her  eyes  were  as  red  as  the  currants." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  replied  Mrs.  Steele,  with  a  sigh  of 
vexation,  "  it  was  her  troubles  at  the  Seminary. 
You  know  we  let  her  go  as  a  day  scholar  this  sum 
mer.  Some  of  the  girls  slight  and  snub  her,  and 
she  is  very  unhappy  about  it." 

"  Why,  what  on  earth  can  anybody  have  against 
Amy  ?  "  demanded  Arthur,  in  indignant  surprise. 

"  I  suppose  it 's  because  some  of  the  little  hussies 
from  the  city  have  taken  the  notion  that  they  won't 
associate  with  a  mechanic's  daughter,  although 
Amy  is  very  careful  not  to  say  it  in  so  many 
words,  for  fear  of  hurting  my  feelings.  But  I 
suspect  that's  about  where  the  shoe  pinches." 


270  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

Arthur  muttered  something  between  an  oath  and 
a  grunt,  expressing  the  emphasis  of  the  one  and 
the  disgust  of  the  other. 

"  I  tell  Amy  it  is  foolish  to  mind  their  airs,  but 
I  'm  really  afraid  it  spoils  the  poor  girl's  happi 
ness." 

"  Why  don't  you  send  her  away  to  boarding- 
school,  if  it  is  so  serious  a  matter  as  that  ?  " 

"  We  can't  afford  it,"  said  his  mother,  whereto 
Arthur  promptly  replied  :  — 

"  I  '11  pay  her  expenses.  I  'm  making  a  good  deal 
more  money  than  I  know  what  to  do  with,  and 
I  'd  really  like  the  chance  of  doing  a  little  good." 

His  mother  glanced  at  him  with  affectionate 
pride. 

"  You  're  always  wanting  to  pay  somebody's  ex 
penses,  or  make  somebody  a  present.  It 's  really 
unsafe,  when  you're  around,  to  indicate  that  one 
is  n't  perfectly  contented.  But  you  caught  me  up 
too  quickly.  I  was  going  to  say  that  we  could  n?t 
spare  her  from  home,  anyhow.  She  's  the  light  of 
the  house.  Besides  that,  if  it  comes  to  objections, 
I  've  my  notions  about  boarding-schools,  and  I  'd 
trust  no  girl  of  mine  at  one  that  was  n't  within 
sight  of  her  home.  No,  she'll  have  to  keep  on 
here  and  bear  it  as  she  can,  though  it 's  pretty 
hard,  I  know.  The  trouble  to-night  was,  that  Lina 
Maynard,  who  is  one  of  the  older  girls,  has  invited 
nearly  everybody  at  the  Seminary  except  Amy  to 
a  birthday  party  to-morrow.  Little  minx,  I  could 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  271 

shake  her.     And  the  worst  of  it  is,  Amy  thinks 
there  's  nobody  like  Lina  Maynard." 

After  tea  it  was  still  light,  and  Arthur  and 
Amy  went  out  to  walk.  In  spite  of  the  ten  years 
difference  in  their  ages,  he  always  enjoyed  her 
company  as  well  as  anybody's  in  the  world,  be 
cause  she  was  so  refreshingly  childlike  and  nat 
ural.  Every  chord  of  feeling  answered  so  true  and 
clear  to  the  touch,  that  to  talk  with  her  was  like 
playing  on  a  musical  instrument,  only  far  more 
delightful.  Arthur  had  looked  forward  to  walks 
and  talks  with  Amy  as  among  the  jolliest  treats 
of  his  vacation.  She  tried  her  best  now  to  seem 
light-hearted,  and  to  entertain  him  with  the  local 
gossip,  for  which  he  always  depended  on  her.  But 
she  could  n't  simulate  the  vivacious  and  eager  air 
that  had  been  the  chief  charm  of  her  talk.  As  he 
glanced  down,  he  was  grieved  to  see  the  sad  set  of 
the  pretty  child  face  at  his  side,  and  how  still  had 
grown  the  fountain  of  smiles  in  the  hazel  eyes  that 
were  wont  to  send  their  ripples  outward  in  con 
stant  succession.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  under  his 
breath  he  applied  some  very  ungentlemanly  lan 
guage  to  Lina  Maynard  and  her  clique,  whose 
nonsenical  ill-nature  had  hurt  this  little  girl's  feel- 

O 

ings  so  sorely,   and  incidentally  spoiled  half  the 
fun  of  his  vacation. 

"  There,  there,  you  need  n't  talk  any  more,"  he 
finally  said,  rather  rudely,  half  vexed  with  her,  as 
helpful  people  are  wont  to  be  with  those  they  can 
do  nothing  to  help. 


272  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

She  looked  up  in  grieved  surprise,  but  before  he 
could  speak  again,  they  came  face  to  face  with  a 
party  of  girls  coming  from  the  direction  of  the 
Seminary. 

There  were  six  or  seven  of  them,  perhaps,  but 
Arthur  only  got  the  impression  of  one  and  a  lot 
of  others.  The  one  was  a  rather  tall  girl  of  lithe 
figure  and  unusually  fine  carriage.  Her  olive  com 
plexion  was  lighted  with  great  black  eyes  that 
rested  on  you  with  an  air  of  imperturbable  assur 
ance,  as  penetrating  as  it  was  negligent.  She  was 
talking,  and  her  companions  were  listening  a-nd 
laughing.  As  they  came  face  to  face  with  Arthur 
and  Amy,  he  saw  that  they  barely  noticed  her, 
while  glancing  at  him  rather  curiously,  with  the 
boldness  of  girls  in  a  crowd  of  their  own  sex. 
They  evidently  observed  that  he  was  a  stranger 
to  the  village,  and  of  quite  a  different  style  from 
that  of  the  country  bumpkins  and  rural  exquisites 
they  were  accustomed  to  meeting.  There  was  in 
the  big  black  eyes,  as  they  had  met  his  a  moment, 
a  suggestion  of  interest  that  was  strangely  flatter 
ing,  and  left  a  trace  of  not  unpleasant  agitation. 

"Who  was  that  ?  "  he  asked,  as  they  passed  out 
of  hearing. 

He  only  thought  of  asking  for  one,  although 
there  were  six,  nor  she  apparently  of  answering 
differently. 

"  Lina  Maynard.     They  are  '  Sem.'  girls." 

It  was  a  dulled  voice  she  spoke  in,  quite  unlike 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  273 

her  usual  eager  way  of  giving  information.  She, 
poor  thing,  was  terribly  afraid  he  would  ask  her 
why  they  did  not  seem  acquainted  with  her,  and  it 
would  have  been  a  painful  humiliation  to  have  ex 
plained.  Arthur  was  conscious  that  he  no  longer 
had  exactly  the  same  feeling  of  merely  contemptu 
ous  annoyance  toward  Lina  Maynard,  on  account 
of  her  treatment  of  Amy.  He  sympathized  as  much 
with  his  sister,  of  course,  but  somehow  felt  that  to 
be  recognized  by  Lina  Maynard  was  not  such  a 
childish  ambition  as  he  had  taken  for  granted. 

It  was  dusk  when  they  reached  home  and  found 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Steele  on  the  piazza,  which  served 
as  an  out-door  parlor  in  summer,  with  a  neighbor 
who  had  dropped  in  to  see  Arthur.  So  he  got  out 
his  cigar-case  and  told  stories  of  city  life  and  inter 
esting  law  cases  to  an  intent  audience  till  the  nine 
o'clock  bell  rang,  and  the  neighbor  "  guessed  he  'd 
go  home,"  and  forthwith  proved  that  his  guess  was 
right  by  going. 

"  'Gad,  I'd  forgotten  all  about  the  watermelons ! 
Perhaps  they  're  at  'em  already !  "  cried  Arthur, 
jumping  up  and  running  around  the  end  of  the 
piazza  to  the  garden. 

When  he  returned,  it  was  to  meet  a  combined 
volley  of  protestations  against  his  foolish  project 
of  keeping  watch  all  night,  from  his  father,  his 
mother,  and  Amy.  But  he  declared  it  was  no  use 
talking ;  and  where  were  the  gun  and  the  beans  ? 
So  they  adjourned  from  the  piazza,  a  lamp  was  lit, 


274  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

the  articles  were  hunted  up,  and  the  gun  duly 
loaded  with  a  good  charge  of  powder  and  a  pint  of 
hard  beans.  It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  Arthur, 
with  a  parting  protest  from  his  mother,  went  out 
into  the  garden,  lugging  his  gun  and  a  big  easy- 
chair,  while  Amy  followed,  bringing  one  or  two 
wraps,  and  a  shocking  old  overcoat  hunted  up  in 
the  garret,  for  the  chill  hours  after  midnight. 

The  front  of  Mr.  Steele's  lot  abutted  on  one  of 
the  pleasantest  and  most  thickly  housed  streets 
of  the  village ;  but  the  lot  was  deep,  and  the  rear 
end  rested  on  a  road  bordered  by  few  houses,  and 
separated  from  the  garden  by  a  rail  fence  easy  to 
climb  over  or  through.  The  watermelon  patch  was 
located  close  to  this  fence,  and  thus  in  full  view 
and  temptingly  accessible  from  the  road. 

Undoubtedly  the  human  conscience,  and  espe 
cially  the  boyish  article,  recognizes  a  broad  differ 
ence  between  the  theft  of  growing  crops  —  of  apples 
on  the  trees,  for  instance,  or  corn  on  the  stalk,  or 
melons  in  the  field  —  and  that  of  other  species  of 
property.  The  surreptitious  appropriation  of  the 
former  class  of  chattels  is  known  in  common  par 
lance  as  "  hooking,"  while  the  graver  term  "  steal 
ing  "  describes  the  same  process  in  other  cases. 
The  distinction  may  arise  from  a  feeling  that,  so 
long  as  crops  remain  rooted  to  the  ground,  they  are 
nature's,  not  man's,  and  that  nature  can't  be  re 
garded  as  forming  business  contracts  with  some 
individuals  to  the  exclusion  of  others,  or  in  fact  as 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  275 

acceding  to  any  of  our  human  distinctions  of  meum 
and  tuum,  however  useful  we  find  them.  Ethical 
philosophers  may  refuse  to  concede  the  sanction 
of  the  popular  distinction  here  alluded  to  between 
"hooking"  and  stealing;  but,  after  all,  ethics  is 
not  a  deductive  but  an  empirical  science,  and  what 
are  morals  but  a  collection  of  usages,  like  orthogra 
phy  and  orthoepy  ?  However  that  may  be,  it  is  the 
duty  of  the  writer  in  this  instance  merely  to  call 
attention  to  the  prevalent  popular  sentiment  on  the 
subject,  without  any  attempt  to  justify  it,  and  to 
state  that  Arthur  Steele  had  been  too  recently  a 
boy  not  to  sympathize  with  it.  And  accordingly 
he  laid  his  plans  to  capture  the  expected  depreda 
tors  to-night  from  practical  considerations  wholty, 
and  quite  without  any  sense  of  moral  reprobation 
toward  them. 

Closely  adjoining  the  edge  of  the  melon-patch 
was  a  patch  of  green  corn,  standing  ten  feet  high, 
and  at  the  fullest  perfection  of  foliage.  This 
Arthur  selected  for  his  ambush,  its  position  being 
such  that  he  could  cut  off  the  retreat  to  the  fence 
of  any  person  who  had  once  got  among  the  melons. 
Hewing  down  a  hill  of  corn  in  the  second  row  from 
the  front,  he  made  a  comfortable  place  for  his  easy- 
chair.  Amy  lingered  for  a  while,  enjoying  the 
excitement  of  the  occasion,  and  they  talked  in 
whispers  ;  but  finally  Arthur  sent  her  in,  and  as 
her  dress  glimmered  away  down  the  garden  path, 
he  settled  himself  comfortably  for  his  watch. 


276  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

In  the  faint  moonlight  he  could  just  descry  the 
dark  shapes  of  the  melons  on  the  ground  in  front 
of  him.  The  crickets  were  having  a  high  time  in 
the  stubble  around,  and  the  night  air  drew  sweet 
autumnal  exhalations  from  the  ground  ;  for  autumn 
begins  by  night  a  long  time  before  it  does  by  day. 
The  night  wind  rustled  in  the  corn  with  a  crisp 
articulateness  he  had  never  noticed  in  daytime,  and 
he  felt  like  an  eavesdropper.  Then  for  a  while  he 
heard  the  music  of  some  roving  serenaders,  down 
in  the  village,  and  grew  pensive  with  the  vague 
reminiscences  of  golden  youth,  romance,  and  the 
sweet  past  that  nightly  music  suggests,  —  vague 
because  apparently  they  are  not  reminiscences  of 
the  individual  but  of  the  race,  a  part  of  the  con 
sciousness  and  ideal  of  humanity.  At  last  the 
music  was  succeeded  by  the  baying  of  a  dog  in 
some  distant  farmyard,  and  then,  ere  the  ocean  of 
silence  had  fairly  smoothed  its  surface  over  that, 
a  horse  began  to  kick  violently  in  a  neighboring 
barn.  Some  time  after,  a  man  chopped  some  kin 
dlings  in  a  shed  a  couple  of  lots  off.  Gradually, 
however,  the  noises  ceased  like  the  oft-returning 
yet  steadily  falling  ebb  of  the  tide,  and  Arthur  ex 
perienced  how  many  degrees  there  are  of  silence, 
each  more  utter  than  the  last,  so  that  the  final  and 
absolute  degree  must  be  something  to  which  the 
utmost  quiet  obtainable  on  earth  is  uproar.  One 
by  one  the  lights  went  out  in  the  houses,  till  the 
only  ones  left  were  in  the  windows  of  the  Seminary, 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  277 

visible  over  the  tree-tops  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away. 

"  The  girls  keep  late  hours,"  thought  Arthur. 
And  from  that  he  fell  to  thinking  of  Lina  Maynard 
and  the  careless,  almost  insolent,  grace  of  her  man 
ner,  and  that  indifferent  yet  penetrating  glance  of 
hers.  Where  did  she  come  from  ?  Probably  from 
California,  or  the  far  West ;  he  had  heard  that  the 
girls  out  there  were  of  a  bolder,  more  unconven 
tional  type  than  at  the  East.  What  a  pity  she  did 
not  fancy  Amy  ! 

What  was  that  moving  across  the  melon-patch? 
He  reached  for  his  gun.  It  was  only  a  cat,  though, 
after  all.  The  slight  noise  in  the  corn-patch  at 
tracted  the  animal's  attention,  and  it  came  across 
and  poked  its  head  into  the  opening  where  Arthur 
sat.  As  the  creature  saw  him,  its  start  of  surprise 
would  have  shattered  the  nervous  system  of  any 
thing  but  a  cat.  It  stood  half  thrown  back  on  its 
haunches,  its  ears  flattened,  its  eyes  glaring  in  a 
petrifaction  of  amazement.  Arthur  sat  motionless 
as  marble,  laughing  inwardly.  For  full  two  min 
utes  the  two  stared  at  each  other  without  moving 
a  muscle,  and  then,  without  relaxing  its  tense  atti 
tude,  the  cat  by  almost  imperceptible  degrees  with 
drew  one  paw  and  then  another,  and,  thus  backing 
out  of  the  corn-patch,  turned  around  when  at  a 
safe  distance  and  slunk  away. 

A  few  minutes  later  a  dog,  that  enthusiast  in  per 
fumes,  jumped  through  the  fence  and  trotted  across 


278  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

the  melon-patch,  his  nose  to  the  ground,  making  a 
collection  of  evening  smells.  Arthur  expected 
nothing  but  that  he  would  scent  his  neighborhood, 
find  him  out,  and  set  up  a  barking.  But,  chancing 
to  strike  the  cat's  trail,  off  went  the  dog  on  a  full 
run  with  nose  to  the  ground. 

Such  were  the  varying  humors  of  the  night. 
After  the  episode  of  the  dog,  feeling  a  little  chilly, 
Arthur  enveloped  himself  in  the  tattered  old  over 
coat  and  must  have  dropped  into  a  nap.  Suddenly 
he  awoke.  Within  ten  feet  of  him,  just  in  the  act 
of  stooping  over  a  huge  melon,  was  a  woman's  fig 
ure.  He  saw  the  face  clearly  as  she  rose.  Immor 
tal  gods  !  it  was  —  But  I  am  anticipating. 

The  discipline  at  Westville  Seminary  had  been 
shockingly  lax  since  the  long  illness  of  the  princi 
pal  had  left  the  easy-going  first  assistant  teacher  at 
the  head  of  affairs.  The  girls  ran  all  over  the  rules, 
—  had  private  theatricals,  suppers,  and  games  of 
all  sorts  in  their  rooms  at  all  hours  of  day  or 
night.  In  the  course  of  the  evening  whose  events  in 
another  sphere  of  life  have  been  narrated,  several 
girls  called  at  Lina  Maynard's  room  to  notify 
her  of  the  "  spread  "  at  Nell  Barber's,  No.  49,  at 
eleven  o'clock.  They  found  her  sitting  in  a  low 
rocking-chair,  with  an  open  letter  in  her  hand  and 
a  very  pensive,  discontented  expression  of  counte 
nance. 

"  Does  he  press  for  an  answer,  Lina  ?  We  're 
just  in  time  to  advise  you,"  cried  Nell  Barber. 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  279 

"  Don't  say  Yes  unless  his  eyes  are  blue,"  drawled 
a  brunette. 

"  Unless  they  're  black,  you  mean,"  sharply 
amended  a  bright  blonde. 

"  Make  him  elope  with  you,"  suggested  Nell. 
"  It  will  be  such  fun  to  have  a  real  rope-ladder 
elopement  at  the  Seminary,  and  we  '11  all  sit  up 
and  see  it." 

"  Oh,  do,  do,  Lina !  "  chorused  the  others. 

But  Lina,  apparently  too  much  chagrined  at 
something  to  be  in  a  mood  for  jests,  sat  with  her 
eyebrows  petulantly  contracted,  her  feet  thrust 
out,  and  the  hand  holding  the  letter  hanging  by  her 
side,  her  whole  attitude  indicating  despondence. 

"  Still  pensive !  It  can't  be  he 's  faithless !  " 
exclaimed  Nell. 

"  Faithless  to  those  eyes  !  I  should  say  not," 
cried  the  blonde,  whom  Lina  called  her  sweetheart, 
and  who  claimed  to  be  "  engaged  "  to  her  accord 
ing  to  boarding-school  fashion. 

"  Don't  mind  him,  dear,"  she  went  on,  throwing 
herself  on  the  floor,  clasping  her  hands  about 
Lina's  knee,  and  leaning  her  cheek  on  it.  "  YoA 
make  me  so  jealous.  Have  n't  you  got  me,  and 
ain't  I  enough  ?  " 

"  Plenty  enough,  dear,"  said  Lina,  stroking  her 
cheek.  "  This  is  only  from  my  brother  Charley." 

"  The  one  at  Watertown  4  Sem.'  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lina ;  "  and  oh,  girls,"  she  went 
on,  with  gloomy  energy,  "  we  don't  have  any  good 


280  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

times  at  all  compared  with  those  boys.  They  do 
really  wicked  things,  hook  apples,  and  carry  off 
people's  gates  and  signs,  and  screw  up  tutors' 
doors  in  the  night,  and  have  fights  with  what  he 
calls  '  townies,'  —  I  don't  know  exactly  what  they 
are,  —  and  everything.  I  thought  before  that  we 
were  doing  some  things  too,  but  we  're  not,  com 
pared  with  all  that,  and  I  shall  be  so  ashamed 
when  I  meet  him  at  home  not  to  have  anything  to 
tell  except  little  bits  of  things." 

A  depressing  pause  followed.  Lina's  disparag 
ing  view  of  achievements  in  the  way  of  defying 
the  proprieties,  of  which  all  the  girls  had  been 
very  proud,  cast  a  profound  gloom  over  the  circle. 
The  blonde  seemed  to  voice  the  common  sentiment 
when  she  said,  resting  her  chin  on  Lina's  knee, 
and  gazing  pensively  at  the  wall :  — 

"  Oh,  dear !  that  comes  of  being  girls.  "We 
might  as  well  be  good  and  done  with  it.  We 
can't  be  bad  so  as  to  amount  to  anything." 

"  Good  or  bad,  we  must  eat,"  said  Nell  Barber. 
"  I  must  go  and  get  the  spread  ready.  I  forgot 
all  about  it,  Lina  ;  but  we  came  in  just  to  invite 
you.  Eleven  sharp,  remember.  Three  knocks,  a 
pause,  and  another,  you  know.  Come,  girls." 

The  brunette  followed  her,  but  Lina's  little 
sweetheart  remained. 

"  What  have  they  got  ?  "  demanded  the  former 
listlessly. 

"  Oh,  Nell  has  a  jar  of  preserves  from  home,  and 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  281 

I  smuggled  up  a  plate  of  dried  beef  from  tea,  and 
cook  let  us  have  some  crackers  and  plates.  We 
tried  hard  to  get  a  watermelon  there  was  in  the 
pantry,  but  cook  said  she  did  n't  dare  let  us  have 
it.  It 's  for  dinner  to-morrow." 

Lina's  eyes  suddenly  became  introspective ;  then 
after  a  moment  she  rose  slowly  and  stood  in  her 
tracks  with  an  expression  of  deep  thought,  absent- 
mindedly  took  one  step,  then  another,  and  after  a 
pause  a  third,  finally  pulling  up  before  the  mirror, 
into  which  she  stared  vacantly  for  a  moment,  and 
then  muttered  defiantly  as  she  turned  away :  — 

"  We  '11  see,  Master  Charley." 

"  Lina  Maynard,  what 's  the  matter  with  you?  " 
cried  the  blonde,  who  had  watched  the  pantomime 
with  open  mouth  and  growing  eyes. 

Lina  turned  and  looked  at  her  thoughtfully  a 
moment,  and  then  said  with  decisiveness :  — 

"  You  just  go  to  Nell's,  my  dear,  and  say  I  'm 
coming  pretty  soon  ;  and  if  you  say  anything  else, 
I  '11  —  I  '11  never  marry  you." 

The  girls  were  in  the  habit  of  doing  as  Lina 
wanted  them  to,  and  the  blonde  went,  pouting 
with  unappeased  curiosity. 

To  gain  exit  from  the  Seminary  was  a  simple 
matter  in  these  lax  days,  and  five  minutes  later 
Lina  was  walking  rapidly  along  the  highway,  her 
lips  firm  set,  but  her  eyes  apprehensively  recon 
noitring  the  road  ahead,  with  frequent  glances  to 
each  side  and  behind.  Once  she  got  over  the 


282  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

stone  wall  at  the  roadside  in  a  considerable  panic 
and  crouched  in  the  dewy  grass  while  a  belated 
villager  passed,  but  it  was  without  further  adven 
ture  that  she  finally  turned  into  the  road  leading 
behind  Mr.  Steele's  lot,  and  after  a  brief  search 
identified  the  garden  where  she  remembered  seeing 
some  particularly  fine  melons,  when  out  walking 
a  day  or  two  previous.  There  they  lay,  just  the 
other  side  the  fence,  faintly  visible  in  the  dim  light. 
She  could  not  help  congratulating  herself,  by 
the  way,  on  the  excellent  behavior  of  her  nerves, 
whose  tense,  fine-strung  condition  was  a  positive 
luxury,  and  she  then  and  there  understood  how 
men  might  delight  in  desperate  risks  for  the  mere 
sake  of  the  exalted  and  supreme  sense  of  perfect 
self-possession  that  danger  brings  to  some  natures. 
Not,  indeed,  that  she  stopped  to  indulge  any  psy 
chological  speculations.  The  coast  was  clear  ;  not 
a  footfall  or  hoof-stroke  sounded  from  the  road, 
and  without  delay  she  began  to  look  about  for  a 
wide  place  between  the  rails  where  she  might  get 
through.  Just  as  she  found  it,  she  was  startled 
by  an  unmistakable  human  snore,  which  seemed 
to  come  from  a  patch  of  high  corn  close  to  the 
melons,  and  she  was  fairly  puzzled  until  she  ob 
served,  about  ten  rods  distant  in  the  same  line,  an 
open  attic  window.  That  explained  its  origin,  and 
with  a  passing  self-congratulation  that  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  not  to  marry  a  man  that  snored, 
she  began  to  crawl  through  the  fence.  When 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  283 

halfway  through  the  thought  struck  her,  — wasn't 
it  like  any  other  stealing,  after  all  ?  This  crawling 
between  rails  seemed  dreadfully  so.  Her  attitude, 
squeezed  between  two  rails  and  half  across  the 
lower  one,  was  neither  graceful  nor  comfortable, 
and  perhaps  that  fact  shortened  her  scruples. 

"  It  can't  be  really  stealing,  for  I  don't  feel  like 
a  thief,"  was  the  logic  that  settled  it,  and  the  next 
moment  she  had  the  novel  sensation  of  having  both 
feet  surreptitiously  and  feloniously  on  another 
person's  land.  She  decidedly  did  n't  relish  it,  but 
she  would  go  ahead  now  and  think  of  it  afterward. 
She  was  pretty  sure  she  never  would  do  it  again, 
anyhow,  experiencing  that  common  sort  of  repent 
ance  beforehand  for  the  thing  she  was  about  to  do, 
the  precise  moral  value  of  which  it  would  be  inter 
esting  to  inquire.  It  ought  to  count  for  some 
thing,  for,  if  it  doesn't  hinder  the  act,  at  least  it 
spoils  the  fun  of  it.  Here  was  a  melon  at  her 
feet ;  should  she  take  it  ?  That  was  a  bigger  one 
further  on,  and  her  imperious  conscientiousness 
compelled  her  to  go  ten  steps  further  into  the 
enemy's  country  to  get  it,  for  now  that  she  was 
committed  to  the  undertaking,  she  was  bound  to 
do  the  best  she  could. 

To  stoop,  to  break  the  vine,  and  to  secure  the 
melon  were  an  instant's  work  ;  but  as  she  bent, 
the  high  corn  before  her  waved  violently  and  a  big 
farmer-looking  man  in  a  slouch  hat  and  shocking 
old  coat  sprang  out  and  seized  her  by  the  arm, 


284  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

with  a  grip  not  painful  but  sickeningly  firm,  ex 
claiming  as  he  did  so  :  — 

"  Wai,  I  swan  ter  gosh,  if  't  ain't  a  gal !  " 

Lina  dropped  the  melon,  and,  barely  recalling 
the  peculiar  circumstances  in  time  to  suppress  a 
scream,  made  a  silent,  desperate  effort  to  break 
away.  But  her  captor's  hold  was  not  even  shaken, 
and  he  laughed  at  the  impotence  of  her  attempt. 
In  all  her  petted  life  she  had  never  been  held  a 
moment  against  her  will,  and  it  needed  not  the 
added  considerations  that  this  man  was  a  coarse, 
unknown  boor,  the  place  retired,  the  time  mid 
night,  and  herself  in  the  position  of  a  criminal,  to 
give  her  a  feeling  of  abject  terror  so  great  as  to 
amount  to  positive  nausea,  as  she  realized  her  utter 
powerlessness  in  his  hands. 

"  So  you  've  been  a-stealin'  my  melons,  hey  ?  " 
he  demanded  gruffly. 

The  slight  shake  with  which  the  question  was 
enforced  deprived  her  of  the  last  vestige  of  dignity 
and  self-assertion.  She  relapsed  into  the  mental 
condition  of  a  juvenile  culprit  undergoing  correc 
tion.  Now  that  she  was  caught,  she  no  longer 
thought  of  her  offense  as  venial.  The  grasp  of  her 
captor  seemed  to  put  an  end  to  all  possible  hair 
splitting  on  that  point,  and  prove  that  it  was  no 
thing  more  nor  less  than  stealing,  and  a  sense  of 
guilt  left  her  without  any  moral  support  against 
her  fright.  She  was  only  conscious  of  utter  humil 
iation,  and  an  abject  desire  to  beg  off  on  any  terms. 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  285 

"  What  do  you  go  round  stealin'  folks's  melons 
for,  young  woman  ?  Don't  yer  folks  bring  yer  up 
better  'n  that  ?  It 's  a  dodrotted  shame  to  'em,  ef 
they  don't.  What  did  ye  want  with  the  melons  ? 
Don't  they  give  yer  enough  to  eat  ter  home, 
hey?" 

"  We  were  going  to  have  some  supper,  sir," 
she  replied,  in  a  scared,  breathless  tone,  with  a 
little  hope  of  propitiating  him  by  being  extremely 
civil  and  explicit  in  her  replies. 

"Who  was  havin'  supper  to  this  time  er 
night  ?  "  he  snorted  incredulously. 

"  We  girls,"  was  the  faint  reply. 

"  What  gals  ?  " 

Had  she  got  to  tell  where  she  came  from  and  be 
identified  ?  She  could  n't,  she  would  n't.  But 
again  came  that  dreadful  shake,  and  the  words 
faltered  out :  — 

"  Over  at  the  Seminary,  sir." 

"Whew!  so  ye 're  one  er  them,  are  ye  ?  What's 
yer  name  ?  " 

Cold  dew  stood  on  the  poor  girl's  forehead. 
She  was  silent.  He  might  kill  her,  but  she 
would  n't  disgrace  her  father's  name. 

"  What 's  yer  name  ?  "  he  repeated,  with  another 
shake. 

She  was  still  silent,  though  limp  as  a  rag  in  his 
grasp. 

"  Wai,"  said  he  sharply,  after  waiting  a  half  min 
ute  to  see  if  she  would  answer,  "  I  guess  ye  '11 


286  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

be  more  confidin'  like  to  the  jedge  when  he  inquiries 
in  the  mornin'.  A  night  in  the  lock-up  makes 
folks  wonderful  civil.  Now  I  '11  jest  trouble  ye  to 
come  along  to  the  police  office,"  and  he  walked 
her  along  by  the  arm  toward  the  house. 

As  the  horrible  degradation  to  which  she  was 
exposed  flashed  upon  Lina,  the  last  remnant  of 
her  self-control  gave  way,  and,  hanging  back  with 
all  her  might  against  his  hand,  she  burst  into 
sobs. 

"Oh,  don't,  don't!  It  will  kill  me.  I'll  tell 
you  my  name.  It 's  Lina  Maynard.  My  father 
is  a  rich  merchant  in  New  York,  Broadway,  No. 
743.  He  will  give  you  anything,  if  you  let  me  go. 
Anything  you  want,  Oh,  please  don't !  Oh, 
don't !  I  could  n't !  I  could  n't !  " 

In  this  terror-stricken,  wild-eyed  girl,  her  face 
streaming  with  tears,  and  every  lineament  con 
vulsed  with  abject  dread,  there  was  little  enough 
to  remind  Arthur  Steele  of  the  queenly  maiden 
who  had  favored  him  with  a  glance  of  negligent 
curiosity  that  afternoon.  He  stopped  marching 
her  along  and  said  reflectively  :  — 

"  Lina  Maynard,  hey !  Then  you  must  be  the 
gal  that 's  down  on  Amy  Steele  and  would  n't  ask 
her  to  the  party  to-morrow.  Say,  ain't  yer  the 
one?" 

Lina  was  too  much  bewildered  by  the  sudden 
change  of  tack  to  do  more  than  stammer  inarticu 
lately.  I  am  afraid  that  in  her  terror  she  would 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  287 

have  been  capable  of  denying  it,  if  she  had  thought 
that  would  help  her.  Her  captor  reflected  more 
deeply,  scratched  his  head,  and  finally,  assuming  a 
diplomatic  attitude  by  thrusting  his  hands  in  his 
pocket,  remarked :  — 

"  I  s'pose  ye  'd  like  it  dummed  well  ef  I  was  to 
let  yer  go  and  say  nothin'  more  about  it.  I  reelly 
don't  s'pose  I  'd  orter  do  it ;  but  it  riles  me  to  see 
Amy  comin'  home  cryin'  every  day,  and  I  '11  tell 
ye  what  I  '11  do.  Ef  you  '11  ask  her  to  yer  fan 
dango  to-morrer,  and  be  friends  with  her  arterward 
so  she  '11  come  home  happy  and  cheerful  like,  I  '11 
let  ye  go,  and  if  ye  don't,  I  '11  put  ye  in  jug  over 
night,  sure  's  taxes.  Say  Yes  or  No  now,  quick  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  Lina  cried,  with  frantic  eagerness. 

There  was  scarcely  any  possible  ransom  he  could 
have  asked  that  she  would  not  have  instantly  given. 
She  dared  not  credit  her  ears,  and  stood  gazing  at 
him  in  intense,  appealing  suspense,  as  if  he  might 
be  about  to  revoke  his  offer.  But  instead  of  that, 
he  turned  down  the  huge  collar  of  the  old  overcoat, 
took  it  off,  threw  it  on  the  ground,  and,  turning 
up  the  slouch  of  his  hat,  stood  before  her  a  very 
good-looking  and  well-dressed  young  gentleman, 
whom  she  at  once  recognized  and  at  length  iden 
tified  in  her  mind  as  the  one  walking  with  Amy 
that  afternoon,  which  now  seemed  weeks  ago. 
He  bowed  very  low,  and  said  earnestly  enough, 
though  smiling :  — 

"  I  humbly  beg  your  pardon." 


288  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

Lina  stared  at  him  with  dumb  amazement,  and 
he  went  on  :  — 

"  I  am  Arthur  Steele.  I  came  home  on  a  vaca 
tion  to-day,  and  was  sitting  up  to  watch  father's 
melon-patch  for  the  pure  fun  of  it,  expecting  to 
catch  some  small  boys,  and  when  I  caught  you,  I 
couldn't  resist  the  temptation  of  a  little  farce. 
As  for  Amy,  that  only  occurred  to  me  at  the  last ; 
and  if  you  think  it  unfair,  you  may  have  your 
promise  back." 

Lina  had  now  measurably  recovered  her  equa 
nimity,  and,  ignoring  his  explanation,  demanded, 
as  she  looked  around  :  — 

"  How  am  I  to  get  out  of  this  dreadful  place  ?  " 
mentally  contemplating  meanwhile  the  impossibil 
ity  of  clambering  through  that  fence  with  a  young 
gentleman  looking  on. 

"  I  will  let  down  the  bars,"  he  said,  and  they 
turned  toward  the  fence. 

"  Let 's  see,  this  is  your  melon,  is  it  not  ?  "  he 
observed,  stooping  to  pick  up  the  booty  Lina  had 
dropped  in  her  first  panic.  "  You  must  keep  that 
anyhow.  You  've  earned  it." 

Since  the  tables  turned  so  unexpectedly  in  her 
favor,  Lina  had  recovered  her  dignity  in  some 
degree,  and  had  become  very  freezing  toward  this 
young  man,  by  whom  she  began  to  feel  she  had 
been  very  badly  treated.  In  this  reaction  of  indig 
nation  she  had  really  almost  forgotten  how  she 
came  in  the  garden  at  all.  But  this  reference  to 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  289 

the  melon  quite  upset  her  new  equanimity,  and  as 
Arthur  grinned  broadly  she  blushed  and  stood 
there  in  awful  confusion.  Finally  she  blurted 
out:  — 

"  I  did  n't  want  your  stupid  melon.  I  only 
wanted  some  fun.  I  can't  explain,  and  I  don't  care 
whether  you  understand  it  or  not." 

Tears  of  vexation  glittered  in  her  eyes.  He 
sobered  instantly,  and  said,  with  an  air  of  the 
utmost  deference  :  — 

"  Pardon  me  for  laughing,  and  do  me  the  jus 
tice  to  believe  that  I  'in  in  no  sort  of  danger  of  mis 
understanding  you.  I  hooked  too  many  melons 
myself  as  a  boy  not  to  sympathize  perfectly.  But 
you  must  really  let  me  carry  the  melon  home  for 
you.  What  would  the  girls  say,  if  you  returned 
empty-handed  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  will  take  the  melon,"  she  said,  half 
defiantly ;  "  but  I  should  prefer  not  to  have  your 
company." 

He  did  not  reply  till  he  had  let  down  the  bars, 
and  then  said  :  — 

"  The  streets  are  not  safe  at  this  hour,  and  you  've 
had  frights  enough  for  one  night." 

She  made  no  further  objections,  and  with  the 
watermelon  poised  on  his  shoulder  he  walked  by 
her  side,  neither  speaking  a  word,  till  they  reached 
the  gate  of  the  Seminary  grounds.  There  she 
stopped,  and,  turning,  extended  her  hands  for  the 
melon.  As  he  gave  it  to  her  their  eyes  met  a 


290  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

moment,  and  their  mutual  appreciation  of  the 
humor  of  the  situation  expressed  itself  in  an 
irrepressible  smile  that  seemed  instantly  to  make 
them  acquainted,  and  she  responded  almost  kindly 
to  his  low  "  Good-evening." 

Amy  came  home  jubilant  next  day.  Lina  May- 
nard  had  invited  her  to  her  party,  and  had  been 
ever  so  good  to  her,  and  there  was  nobody  in  the 
world  like  Lina.  Arthur  listened  and  said  no 
thing.  All  the  next  week  it  was  the  same  story 
of  Lina's  beauty,  good-nature,  cleverness,  and  per 
fections  generally,  and,  above  all,  her  goodness  to 
herself,  Amy  Steele.  Lina  was  indeed  fulfilling 
her  promise  with  generous  over-measure.  And  after 
once  taking  up  with  Amy,  the  sweet  simplicity  and 
enthusiastic  loyalty  of  the  child  to  herself  won  her 
heart  completely.  The  other  girls  wondered,  but 
Lina  Maynard's  freaks  always  set  the  fashion,  and 
Amy,  to  her  astonishment  and  boundless  delight, 
found  herself  the  pet  of  the  Seminary.  The  little 
blonde,  Lina's  sweetheart,  alone  rebelled  against 
the  new  order  of  things  and  was  furiously  jealous, 
for  which  she  was  promptly  snubbed  by  Lina,  and 
Amy  taken  into  her  place.  And  meanwhile  Lina 
caught  herself  several  times  wondering  whether 
Arthur  Steele  was  satisfied  with  the  way  she  was 
keeping  her  pledge. 

It  was  Wednesday  night,  and  Arthur  was  to  re 
turn  to  New  York  Thursday  morning.  Although 
he  had  walked  the  street  every  afternoon  and  had 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  291 

met  nearly  all  the  other  girls  at  the  Seminary,  he 
had  not  seen  Lina  again.  His  mother,  whom  he 
took  about  a  good  deal  on  pleasure  drives,  seriously 
wondered  if  the  eagerness  of  city  life  was  really 
spoiling  his  faculty  for  leisurely  pleasures.  He 
always  seemed  to  be  looking  out  ahead  for  some 
thing,  instead  of  quietly  enjoying  the  passing  sights 
and  scenery.  He  had  consented  to  accompany 
Amy  to  a  little  church  sociable  on  the  evening 
before  his  departure.  It  was  a  species  of  enter 
tainment  which  he  detested,  but  he  thought  he 
might  possibly  meet  Lina  there,  as  Amy  had  said 
some  of  the  Seminary  girls  would  be  present. 

At  once,  on  entering  the  vestry,  he  caught  sight 
of  her  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  among  a  group 
of  girls.  At  the  sound  of  the  closing  door  she 
glanced  up  with  an  involuntary  gesture  of  expec 
tancy,  and  their  eyes  met.  She  looked  confused, 
and  instantly  averted  her  face.  There  was  plenty 
of  recognition  in  her  expression,  but  she  did  not  bow, 
the  real  reason  being  that  she  was  too  much  embar 
rassed  to  think  of  it.  But  during  the  week  he  had 
so  many  times  canvassed  the  chances  of  her  recog 
nizing  him  when  they  should  meet  that  he  had 
become  quite  morbid  about  it,  and  manifested  the 
usual  alacrity  of  persons  in  that  state  of  mind  in 
jumping  at  conclusions  they  wish  to  avoid.  He 
had  been  a  fool  to  think  that  she  would  recognize 
him  as  an  acquaintance.  What  had  he  done  but 
to  insult  her,  and  what  associations  save  distress- 


292  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

ing  ones  could  she  have  with  him?  He  would 
exchange  a  few  greetings  with  old  friends,  and 
then  quietly  slink  off  home  and  go  to  packing  up. 
He  was  rather  sorry  for  his  mother  ;  she  would 
feel  so  badly  to  have  him  moody  and  cross  on  the 
last  evening  at  home.  Just  then  some  one  touched 
his  sleeve,  and  looking  around  he  saw  Amy.  She 
put  her  flushed  little  face  close  to  his  ear  and 
whispered  :  - 

"Lina  said  I  might  introduce  you.  Isn't  she 
beautiful,  though,  to-night  ?  Of  course  you  '11  fall 
in  love  with  her,  but  you  must  n't  try  to  cut  me 
out." 

Arthur  was  Amy's  ideal  of  gentlemanly  ease  and 
polish,  and  she  had  been  very  proud  of  having  so 
fine  a  city  brother  to  introduce  to  the  girls.  Ima 
gine  her  astonishment  and  chagrin  when  she  saw  him 
standing  before  Lina  with  an  exaggeration  of  the 
agitated,  sheepish  air  the  girls  made  such  fun  of  in 
their  rural  admirers  !  But  if  that  surprised  her, 
what  was  her  amazement  to  see  Lina  looking 
equally  confused,  and  blushing  to  where  her  neck 
curved  beneath  the  lace,  although  the  brave  eyes 
met  his  fairly !  A  wise  instinct  told  Amy  that 
here  was  something  she  did  n't  understand,  and 
she  had  better  go  away,  and  she  did. 

"  The  melon  was  very  good,  Mr.  Steele,"  said 
Lina  demurely,  with  a  glimmer  of  fun  in  her 
black  eyes. 

"  Miss  Maynard,  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  beg 


HOOKING  WATERMELONS  293 

pardon,  or  humble  myself  enough  for  my  out 
rageous  treatment  of  you,"  burst  forth  Arthur.  "  I 
don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  if  I  had  n't 
had  an  opportunity  for  apologizing  pretty  soon,  and 
now  I  scarcely  dare  look  you  in  the  face." 

His  chagrin  and  self-reproach  were  genuine 
enough,  but  he  might  have  left  off  that  last,  for  he 
had  n't  been  looking  anywhere  else  since  he  came 
into  the  room. 

"  You  did  shake  me  rather  hard,"  she  said,  with 
a  smiling  contraction  of  the  black  eyebrows. 

Good  heavens !  had  he  actually  shaken  this 
divine  creature,  —  this  Cleopatra  of  a  girl,  whose 
queenly  brow  gave  her  hair  the  look  of  a  coronet  ! 
He  groaned  in  spirit,  and  looked  so  self -reproachful 
and  chagrined  that  she  laughed. 

"  I  don't  know  about  forgiving  you  for  that,  but 
I  'm  so  grateful  you  did  n't  take  me  to  the  lock-up 
that  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  mind  the  shaking." 

"  But,  Miss  Maynard,  you  surely  don't  think 
I  was  in  earnest  about  that?"  he  exclaimed,  in 
strenuous  deprecation. 

"  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure,"  she  said  doubtfully. 
"  You  looked  as  if  you  were  capable  of  it." 

He  was  going  on  to  protest  still  farther  when  she 
interrupted  him,  and  said  laughingly  :  — 

"  You  take  to  apologizing  so  naturally  that  I  'd 
nearly  forgotten  that  it  was  not  you  but  I  who  was 
the  real  culprit.  I  must  really  make  a  few  excuses 
myself  before  I  hear  any  more  from  you." 


394  HOOKING  WATERMELONS 

And  then  she  told  him  all  about  her  brother 
Charley's  letter,  and  the  spirit  of  emulation  that 
had  got  her  into  trouble.  It  was  easy  enough  to 
joke  about  certain  aspects  of  the  matter ;  but  when 
she  came  to  talk  in  plain  language  about  her  per 
formances  that  night,  she  became  so  much  embar 
rassed  and  stumbled  so  badly  that  Arthur  felt  very 
ill  at  ease. 

"  And  when  I  think  what  would  nave  happened 
if  I  'd  fallen  into  anybody's  hands  but  yours,  you 
seem  almost  like  a  deliverer."  At  which  Arthur 
had  another  access  of  humiliation  to  think  how  un- 
chivalrously  he  had  treated  this  princess  in  disguise. 
How  he  would  like  to  catch  somebody  else  abusing 
her  that  way  !  And  then  he  told  her  all  that  he 
had  thought  and  felt  about  her  during  the  stealing 
scene,  and  she  gave  her  side  of  the  drama,  to  their 
intense  mutual  interest. 

"  Is  n't  it  about  time  we  were  going  home, 
Arthur  ?  "  said  Amy's  voice. 

He  glanced  up.  The  room  was  nearly  empty, 
and  the  party  from  the  Seminary  were  waiting  for 
Lina. 

"  Miss  Maynard,  may  I  call  upon  you  in  New 
York  during  vacation  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  happy  to  see  you." 

"  Au  revoir,  then !  " 

"  Au  revoir  /" 


A  POSITIVE  KOMANCE 

MY  friend  Hammond  is  a  bachelor,  and  lives  in 
chambers  in  New  York.  Whenever  we  meet  on 
my  occasional  visits  to  the  city,  he  insists  on  my 
spending  the  night  with  him.  On  one  of  these  oc 
casions  we  had  been  at  the  opera  during  the  even 
ing,  and  had  witnessed  an  ovation  to  a  beautiful 
and  famous  singer.  We  had  been  stirred  by  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  audience,  and  on  our  walk  home 
fell  to  discussing  a  theme  suggested  by  the  scene ; 
namely,  the  tendency  of  man  to  assume  a  worship 
ful  attitude  towards  woman,  and  the  reason  for  it. 
Was  it  merely  a  phase  of  the  passional  relation 
between  the  sexes,  or  had  it  some  deeper  and  more 
mysterious  significance  ? 

When  I  mentioned  the  former  idea,  Hammond 
demanded  why  this  tendency  was  not  reciprocal 
between  the  sexes.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  while  wo 
men  showed  endless  devotion  and  fondness  for  men, 
their  feeling  was  without  the  strain  of  adoration. 
Particular  men's  qualities  of  mind  or  heart  might 
excite  the  enthusiastic  admiration  of  women,  but 
such  admiration  was  for  cause,  and  in  no  way  con 
founded  with  the  worshipful  reverence  which  it  was 
man's  instinct  to  extend  to  woman  as  woman,  with 


296  A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE 

secondary  reference  to  her  qualities  as  a  particular 
person.  No  fact  in  the  relations  of  men  and  wo 
men,  he  declared,  was  more  striking  than  this  con 
trast  in  their  mutual  attitudes.  It  was  the  femi 
nine,  not  the  masculine,  ideal  which  supplied  the 
inspiration  of  art  and  the  aroma  of  literature,  which 
was  found  enshrined  in  the  customs  and  common 
speech  of  mankind.  To  this  I  replied  that  man, 
being  the  dominant  sex,  had  imposed  his  worship 
on  the  race  as  a  conquering  nation,  its  gods  on  the 
conquered.  He,  not  woman,  had  been  the  creator 
of  the  art,  the  literature,  and  the  language  which 
were  dedicated  to  her.  Had  woman  been  the  dom 
inant  sex,  the  reverse  might  have  happened,  and 
man  been  obliged  to  stand  upon  a  pedestal  and  be 
worshiped. 

Hammond  laughed,  but  declared  that  I  was  all 
wrong.  Man's  tendency  to  worship  woman,  while 
naturally  blending  with  his  passional  attraction 
towards  her,  did  not  spring  from  the  instinct  of 
sex,  but  from  the  instinct  of  race,  —  a  far  deeper 
and  generally  unrecognized  impulse.  Even  though 
woman  should  become  some  day  the  dominant  sex, 
man  need  suffer  no  apprehension  of  being  wor 
shiped.  His  modesty  would  be  respected. 

Some  time  later,  when  we  had  cozily  established 
ourselves  before  a  sea-coal  fire  in  Hammond's  quar 
ters,  with  divers  creature  comforts  at  hand  for  one 
of  our  usual  symposiums,  the  subject  came  up 
again ;  and  under  conditions  so  favorable  to  dis 
cursiveness  our  talk  took  a  wide  range. 


A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE  297 

"  By  the  way,"  said  I,  apropos  of  some  remark 
he  had  made,  "  talking  about  the  adoration  of 
woman,  did  not  that  crack-brained  Frenchman, 
Auguste  Comte,  propose  something  of  the  sort  as 
a  feature  of  his  4  Religion  of  Humanity  '  ?  " 

Hammond  nodded. 

"  I  wonder,"  I  said,  "  whether  that  feature  of  his 
scheme  was  ever  actually  practiced  by  his  followers. 
I  should  like  to  get  a  chance  to  ask  a  Positivist 
about  that,  if  indeed  there  are  any  in  America." 

Hammond  smoked  in  silence  for  some  time,  and 
finally  said,  quietly,  "  Possibly  I  might  tell  you 
something  about  it  myself." 

"  Hello  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  How  long  since  you 
have  been  a  Positivist  ?  " 

"  About  twenty-five  years,"  was  the  matter-of- 
fact  reply. 

"  A  Positivist  of  twenty-five  years'  standing,"  I 
ejaculated,  "  and  never  told  of  it !  Why  have  you 
hid  your  light  under  a  bushel  all  this  while  ?  " 

"  I  said  that  it  was  twenty-five  years  since  I  had 
been  a  Positivist,"  replied  Hammond  ;  "  as  long, 
in  fact,  as  it  is  since  I  have  been  a  sophomore. 
Both  experiences  belonged  to  the  same  year  of  my 
college  course,  and,  perhaps  you  may  infer,  to  the 
same  stage  of  intellectual  development.  For  about 
six  months  at  that  time  I  was  as  ardent  a  convert, 
I  fancy,  as  the  Religion  of  Humanity  ever  had." 

"  I  thought  you  had  told  me  all  about  yourself 
long  ago,"  I  said.  "  How  is  it  that  you  have  kept 


298  A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE 

so  mum  about  this  experience  ?  I  should  fancy  it 
must  have  been  a  decidedly  odd  one." 

"  It  was  a  very  odd  one,"  replied  Hammond,  — 
"  the  strangest  passage,  on  the  whole,  I  think,  in 
my  life.  I  have  never  spoken  of  it,  because  it  is 
one  of  those  emotional  experiences  which  no  man 
likes  to  relate  unless  he  is  sure  of  being  understood. 
To  tell  it  to  most  men  would  be  casting  pearls 
before  swine.  I  have  always  meant  to  tell  you 
when  a  suitable  opportunity  came  up." 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  when  I  had  signified  my 
eagerness  to  hear,  "  that  I  graduated  at  Leroy  Col 
lege.  It  was  a  little  one-horse  institution,  but  blue 
as  a  whetstone  in  its  orthodoxy ;  and  with  my 
father,  who  was  a  clergyman  of  a  very  strait  sect 
and  staid  views,  that  fact  covered  a  multitude  of 
shortcomings.  I  was  nineteen  when  I  entered,  and 
consequently  twenty  when,  at  the  beginning  of 
sophomore  year,  I  came  under  the  charge  of  Pro 
fessor  Regnier.  He  was  a  Frenchman,  but  spoke 
English  with  perfect  ease  and  precision  and  a  very 
slight  accent.  At  the  time  I  knew  him,  he  was 
probably  sixty.  His  hair  was  quite  gray,  but  his 
mustache  and  imperial  were  still  dark.  It  was 
rumored  among  the  students  that  he  had  left  his 
native  land  for  political  reasons,  having  played  for 
too  high  stakes  at  the  national  game  of  revolution. 
True  or  not,  the  report  naturally  heightened  the 
interest  which  his  personality  had  for  us. 

"  He  made  it  his  business  to  know  personally  all 


A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE  299 

the  students  in  his  classes  ;  and  as  it  is  not  easy 
for  a  man  of  sixty,  especially  if  he  is  also  their 
teacher,  to  become  really  acquainted  with  students 
of  twenty,  the  fact  may  be  taken  as  evidence  of  his 
unusual  tact.  He  was,  I  think,  the  most  fascinat 
ing  man  I  ever  saw.  His  insight  into  character 
was  like  magic,  his  manners  were  charming,  and 
his  Gallic  vivacity  made  him  seem  like  a  boy. 
Gradually,  while  still  remaining  to  the  rest  of  the 
students  a  genial  and  friendly  instructor,  he  sin 
gled  out  a  smaller  circle  of  particular  intimates. 
Of  these  I  was  one,  and  I  believe  the  most  trusted. 

"  Of  course  we  boys  were  immensely  flattered  by 
the  partiality  of  such  a  man ;  but  equally  of  course 
the  pursuit  of  his  own  pleasure  could  scarcely  have 
been  the  motive  which  impelled  him  to  seek  our 
companionship.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  motive  as  un 
selfish  as  that  of  the  missionary  who  leaves  the 
comforts  and  refinements  of  civilization  and  exiles 
himself  among  savages  that  he  may  win  them  to 
his  faith.  He  had  been  a  personal  friend  and 
disciple  of  Auguste  Comte,  then  but  lately  dead, 
and  on  coming  to  America  had  sought  his  present 
employment,  not  merely  as  a  means  of  livelihood, 
but  equally  for  the  opportunity  it  offered  for  pro 
pagating  the  new  gospel  among  young  men.  Do 
you  know  much  about  what  Positivism  is  ?  " 

I  confessed  that  I  knew  next  to  nothing,  — 
scarcely  more  than  that  there  was  such  a  thing. 

"  I  shall  not  bore  you  with  an  account  of  it," 


300  A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE 

resumed  Hammond,  "  further  than  to  say  that  it  is 
a  scheme  for  the  perfection  of  the  human  race.  It 
rejects  as  idle  all  theories  of  superhuman  intelli 
gences,  and  declares  the  supreme  object  of  the 
individual  love  and  devotion  should  be  humanity. 
The  rational  demonstration  of  the  truth  of  this 
system  is  sought  in  the  course  of  history,  which 
is  claimed  to  prove  Positivism  the  finality  of  social 
evolution.  You  will  find  anything  else  you  want 
to  know  about  it  in  the  books.  I  dare  say  you  will 
not  be  converted  ;  but  if  you  were  nineteen  instead 
of  twice  that,  with  Hippolyte  Regnier  to  indoctri 
nate  you,  I  fancy  the  result  would  be  about  what  it 
was  in  my  case. 

"  His  personal  influence  over  us,  and  the  intoxi 
cating  flattery  implied  in  being  seriously  reasoned 
with  on  themes  so  lofty  by  a  man  whom  we  so 
greatly  admired,  would  have  gone  far,  no  doubt,  to 
commend  to  us  any  form  of  opinions  he  might  have 
taught ;  but  there  were  not  lacking  other  reasons 
to  account  for  his  success  in  converting  us.  As  for 
Comte's  dogmatic  denial  of  superhuman  existence, 
and  his  fanciful  schemes  of  new  society,  we  were 
too  young  and  crude  to  realize  how  unphilosophic 
was  the  former,  how  impossible  and  undesirable 
was  the  latter.  While  accepting  them  as  facts  of  a 
new  creed,  they  meant  little  to  us,  nor  did  Regnier 
much  insist  upon  them.  What  most  he  did  insist 
on  was  the  ethical  side  of  Positivism,  —  the  idea  of 
the  essential  unity  of  the  individual  with  the  im- 


A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE  301 

mortal  race  of  man,  and  his  obvious  duty  to  forget 
self  in  its  service.  What  could  be  better  adapted 
to  affect  generous  and  impassioned  boys  than 
an  appeal  like  this  ?  The  magnificent  audacity  of 
it,  the  assumption  of  man's  essential  nobleness, 
the  contemptuous  refusal  to  make  any  terms  with 
selfishness,  captivated  our  imaginations.  I  know 
now,  indeed,  that  this  enthusiasm  of  humanity,  this 
passion  of  self-abnegation,  which  I  thought  a  new 
religion,  was  the  heart  of  the  old  religions.  In  its 
new-fangled  disguise  the  truth  and  virtue  of  the 
doctrine  were  still  operative,  and  the  emotional 
crisis  through  which  I  passed  I  found  was  as 
essentially  religious  as  it  was  in  form  unorthodox. 

"  At  the  end  of  sophomore  year  there  were  a 
half-dozen  very  positive  young  Positivists  in  our 
class.  The  pride  of  intellect  which  we  felt  in  our 
new  enlightenment  was  intoxicating.  To  be  able 
to  look  down  from  a  serene  height,  with  compas 
sion  frequently  tempered  by  contempt,  upon  the 
rest  of  the  world  still  groping  in  the  mists  of  child 
ish  superstition,  was  prodigiously  to  the  taste  of 
youths  of  eighteen  and  twenty.  How,  to  be  sure, 
we  did  turn  up  our  noses  at  the  homely  teachings 
in  the  college  chapel  on  Sundays !  Well  do  I  re 
member  attending  my  father's  church  when  at  home 
on  vacation,  and  endeavoring  to  assume  the  mental 
attitude  of  a  curious  traveler  in  a  Buddhist  temple. 
Together  with  the  intellectual  vanity  which  it  fos 
tered,  our  new  faith  was  commended  to  us  by  its 


302  A  POSITIVE   ROMANCE 

flavor  of  the  secret,  the  hazardous,  and  the  for 
bidden.  We  were  delightfully  conscious  of  being 
concerned  in  a  species  of  conspiracy,  which  if  it 
came  to  light  would  convulse  the  college  and  the 
community,  have  us  expelled,  and  cause  no  end  of 
scandal  to  the  public. 

"  But  the  more  I  took  my  new  faith  in  earnest 
and  tried  to  make  of  it  the  religion  it  claimed  to 
be,  I  was  troubled  by  a  lack  that  seemed  to  be 
inherent.  Humanity,  the  object  of  our  devotion, 
was  but  an  abstraction,  a  rhetorical  expression  for 
a  mass  of  individuals.  To  these  individuals  I 
might  indeed  render  affection,  service,  compassion, 
tenderness,  self-sacrifice ;  but  their  number  and 
pettiness  forbade  me  the  glow  of  adoration  with 
which  service  was  touched  in  religions  which  of 
fered  a  personified  object  of  adoration.  When, 
finally,  I  confided  these  troubles  to  Regnier,  I  ex 
pected  to  be  rebuked  ;  but  on  the  contrary,  and  to 
my  great  discomfiture,  he  embraced  me  effusively 
after  the  Gallic  manner.  He  said  that  he  had 
been  waiting  for  the  time  when  in  the  course  of 
my  development  I  should  become  conscious  of  the 
need  I  had  confessed  before  explaining  to  me  the 
provision  made  for  it  by  Positivism. 

"  To  start  with,  he  put  in,  as  a  sort  of  special 
plea  for  Positivism,  that  it  was  not  singular  among 
religions  in  recognizing  as  the  object  of  devotion 
an  abstraction,  the  mode  of  the  existence  of  which 
was  a  mystery.  As  a  solace  to  their  votaries  and 


A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE  303 

an  aid  to  their  faith,  nearly  all  religions  recognized 
sacred  emblems  ;  not  indeed  to  be  confounded  in 
clear  minds  with  the  original  object  of  devotion, 
but  worthy  of  reverence  in  its  place,  as  its  special 
representative  and  reminder.  In  precisely  this 
sense  the  sacred  emblem  of  humanity  was  woman. 

"  Of  course,  Positivism  claiming  to  be  a  creed 
of  demonstration,  not  of  faith,  Regnier  did  not  ask 
me  to  receive  this  proposition  as  his  mere  state 
ment,  but  proceeded  to  establish  its  reasonableness 
by  logic.  I  am  going  to  give  you  what  I  remem 
ber  of  his  argument,  because  I  believe  still,  as  I 
did  when  I  heard  it,  that  it  is  the  only  philoso 
phical  explanation  of  the  instinctive  reverence  of 
man  for  woman  which  we  have  been  talking  about 
to-night.  It  was  given  to  me,  of  course,  as  a  doc 
trine  peculiar  to  Positivism ;  but  I  don't  know  of 
any  form  of  religious  belief  inconsistent  with  the 
recognition  of  the  sacred  quality  of  womanhood  on 
the  grounds  given  by  Regnier.  Indeed,  I  am  by 
no  means  sure  whether  the  doctrine  as  I  received 
it  is  orthodox  Positivism  at  all.  I  have  reason  to 
think  that  Regnier  was  quite  too  original  a  char 
acter  for  a  very  good  interpreter,  and  should  be 
interested  to  know  how  far  his  ideas  were  his  own 
and  how  far  his  master's. 

"  First  he  pointed  out  to  me  as  matter  of  fact 
that  there  was  no  more  striking  feature  of  the 
modern  and  humane  as  compared  with  the  ancient 
and  barbaric  world  than  the  constantly  growing 


304  A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE 

tendency  of  the  most  civilized  races  to  apotheosize 
womanhood.  The  virgin  ideal  had  been  set  up  by 
the  larger  part  of  Christendom  as  the  object  of' 
divine  honors.  The  age  of  chivalry  had  translated 
for  all  time  the  language  of  love  into  that  of  wor 
ship.  Art  had  personified  under  the  feminine 
form  every  noble  and  affecting  ideal  of  the  race, 
till  now  it  was  in  the  name  of  woman  that  man's 
better  part  adjured  his  baser  in  every  sort  of  strife 
towards  the  divine.  Is  it  alleged  that  it  is  man's 
passion  for  woman  that  has  moved  him  thus  in  a 
sort  to  deify  the  sex  ?  Passion  is  no  teacher  of 
reverence.  Moreover,  it  is  as  the  race  outgrows 
the  dominion  of  passion  that  it  recognizes  the  wor- 
shipfulness  of  woman.  The  gross  and  sensual 
recognize  in  her  no  element  of  sacredness.  It  is 
the  clear  soul  of  the  boy,  the  poet,  and  the  seer 
which  is  most  surely  aware  of  it.  Equally  vain  is 
it  to  seek  the  explanation  in  any  general  superior 
ity  of  woman  to  man,  either  moral  or  mental.  Her 
qualities  are  indeed  in  engaging  contrast  with  his, 
but  on  the  whole  no  such  superiority  has  ever  been 
maintained.  How,  then,  were  we  to  account  for 
a  phenomenon  so  great  in  its  proportions  that 
either  it  indicates  a  world-wide  madness  infecting 
the  noblest  nations  while  sparing  the  basest,  or 
else  must  be  the  outcome  of  some  profound  moni 
tion  of  nature,  which,  in  proportion  as  man's  up 
ward  evolution  progresses,  he  becomes  capable  of 
apprehending  ?  Why  this  impassioned  exaltation 


A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE  305 

by  him  of  his  tender  companion  ?  What  is  the 
secret  spring  that  makes  her  the  ceaseless  fountain 
of  lofty  inspiration  she  is  to  him  ?  What  is  the 
hint  of  divinity  in  her  gentle  mien  that  brings 
him  to  his  knees  ?  Who  is  this  goddess  veiled  in 
woman  whom  men  instinctively  reverence  yet  can 
not  name  ? 

"The  adoration  of  woman,  which  may  almost 
be  called  the  natural  religion  of  the  modern  man, 
springs  from  his  recognition,  instinctive  when  not 
conscious,  that  she  is  in  an  express  sense,  as  he  is 
not,  the  type,  the  representative,  and  the  symbol 
of  the  race  from  which  he  springs,  of  that  immor 
tal  and  mystical  life  in  which  the  secret  of  his  own 
is  hid.  She  is  this  by  virtue,  not  of  her  personal 
qualities,  but  of  the  mother-sex,  which,  overbearing 
in  part  her  individuality,  fconsecrates  her  to  the 

interests  of  the  race!  and  makes  her  the  channel 
7 

of  those  irresistible  attractions  by  which  humanity 
exists  and  men  are  made  to  serve  it.  As  compared 
with  woman's  peculiar  identification  with  the  race, 
man's  relation  to  it  is  an  exterior  one.  By  his 
constitution  he  is  above  all  an  individual,  and  that 
is  the  natural  line  of  his  development.  The  love 
of  woman  is  the  centripetal  attraction  which  in  due 
time  brings  him  back  from  the  individual  tangent 
to  blend  him  again  with  mankind.  In  returning 
to  woman  he  returns  to  humanity.  All  that  there 
is  in  man's  sentiment  for  woman  which  is  higher 
than  passion  and  larger  than  personal  tenderness 


306  A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE 

—  all,  that  is  to  say,  which  makes  his  love  for  her 
the  grand  passion  which  in  noble  hearts  it  is  —  is 
the  fact  that  under  this  form  his  passion  for  the 
race  finds  expression.  Mysterious  ties,  subtending 
consciousness,  bind  him,  though  seemingly  sepa 
rate,  to  the  mighty  life  of  humanity,  his  greater 
self,  and  these  are  the  chords  which,  when  4  Love 
took  up  the  harp  of  life,'  .  .  .  '  passed  in  music 
out  of  sight.'  In  woman  humanity  is  enshrined 
and  made  concrete  for  the  homage  of  man.  This  is 
the  mighty  indwelling  which  causes  her  to  suggest 
something  more  august  than  herself,  and  invests 
her  with  an  impersonal  majesty  commanding  rev 
erence. 

"You  may  imagine  with  what  power  such  a 
doctrine  as  this,  set  forth  by  an  enthusiast  like 
Regnier,  appealed  to  the  mind  of  an  impassioned 
boy  of  twenty,  as  yet  pure  as  a  girl,  but  long 
vaguely  stirred  by  the  master  passion  of  our  na 
ture.  The  other  tenets  of  the  Religion  of  Human 
ity  had  been  impressed  upon  me  by  argument,  but 
at  the  mere  statement  of  this  my  heart  responded, 
ODea  Certe! 

"  Subsequently,  in  response  to  my  questioning, 
Regnier  explained  to  me  how  the  master  had  re 
commended  his  disciples  to  give  practical  effect  to 
the  cult  of  womanhood.  I  must  remember  that  it 
was  nothing  new  and  nothing  peculiar  to  Positiv 
ism  for  men  to  adore  women  to  the  point  even  of 
idolatry.  Lovers  constantly  were  doing  it.  But 


A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE  307 

in  these  cases  the  worshipers  did  not  look  beyond 
the  personality  of  the  idol.  Possibly,  no  doubt, 
some  dim  apprehension  of  the  true  grounds  of 
woman's  worshipfulness  might  mingle  with  the 
lover's  sentiment,  but  it  was  very  far  from  being 
the  clear  and  distinct  sense  necessary  to  redeem 
his  homage  from  the  charge  of  extravagance.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  spirit  in  which  women  received 
the  homage  men  rendered  them  was  usually  as 
mistaken  as  that  in  which  it  was  offered.  Either, 
on  the  one  hand,  from  an  impulse  of  personal  mod 
esty  they  deprecated  it,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  they 
accepted  it  as  a  gratification  to  their  personal  van 
ity.  In  either  case,  they  equally  misapprehended 
their  true  and  valid  title  to  worship,  which,  while 
personal  qualities  might  enhance  or  partially  ob 
scure  it,  was  itself  in  root  more  than  personal,  and 
consisted  in  the  martyr  and  mother  sex  which  so 
peculiarly  sacrificed  and  consecrated  them  to  the 
interests  of  humanity  as  to  draw  to  them  the  hom 
age  and  loyalty  of  all  men  who  loved  their  race. 
It  had  been  the  counsel  of  his  master,  Kegnier 
said,  that,  while  his  disciples  should  hold  all  wo 
men  in  exalted  reverence,  they  should  peculiarly 
address  this  general  sentiment  to  some  particular 
woman,  who,  being  of  the  same  faith,  should  be 
able  to  accept  it  worthily  and  without  self-exalta 
tion,  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  offered. 

"  Of  course   the  reflection  was  obvious  that  in 
the  existing  conditions  of  the  Positivist  propaganda 


308  A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE 

in  America  it  would  be  impossible  to  find  a  woman 
capable  of  understanding,  much  less  of  accepting, 
such  a  relation,  and,  therefore,  that  to  me  the  cult 
which  I  had  been  taught  must  remain  entirely 
theoretical.  Homage  from  men  which  did  not 
insure  to  the  titillation  of  the  vanity  would  seem  to 
women,  as  usually  educated,  equally  incomprehen 
sible  and  unprofitable. 

"  It  was  in  recognition  of  this  situation  that 
Kegnier  ended  by  making  a  proposition  which  tes 
tified,  more  strongly  than  anything  else  could  have 
done,  both  to  the  enthusiasm  and  sincerity  with 
which  he  himself  held  the  faith  he  preached,  and 
to  his  confidence  in  my  own  equal  singleness  of 
heart.  He  had  never  before  spoken  of  his  personal 
history  or  home  'life.  Several  times  I  had  spent 
the  evening  at  his  house,  but  on  these  occasions  I 
had  seen  only  himself.  Certain  womanly  belong 
ings,  however,  which  I  had  noticed,  and  the  sound 
of  a  piano  once  or  twice,  had  suggested  that  the 
house  might  not  be  without  a  feminine  presence. 
The  professor  now  told  me  that  long  ago  in  France, 
for  a  few  short,  blissful  years,  he  had  been  the  hus 
band  of  the  sweetest  of  women.  She  had  left  be 
hind  a  daughter,  the  sole  companion  of  his  life  and 
the  apple  of  his  eye.  She  lived  in  complete  seclu 
sion,  rarely  even  leaving  the  house.  He  did  not 
desire  her  to  make  acquaintances  in  this  country, 
nor  indeed  was  she  able  to  speak  a  word  of  any 
language  but  her  own.  There  was  no  question  of 


A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE  309 

my  making  her  acquaintance  in  the  ordinary  sense, 
or  even  of  meeting  her  a  second  time,  but  if  I  de 
sired  to  testify  my  new  appreciation  of  the  sacred 
quality  of  womanhood,  it  was  possible  that  she 
might  consent  to  receive  my  homage  in  the  name 
of  her  sex.  He  could  not  be  sure  what  she  would 
say,  but  he  would  speak  with  her  about  it. 

"  The  following  day,  a  note  from  him  requesting 
that  I  should  call  at  his  house  that  evening  inti 
mated  that  he  had  succeeded  in  carrying  his  point. 
When  I  called  at  the  time  set,  he  told  me  that  he 
had  found  it  more  difficult  than  he  had  anticipated 
to  gain  his  daughter's  consent  to  see  me.  She  had 
been  very  reluctant  to  assume  the  attitude  required 
of  her,  and  only  her  respect  for  his  wishes  and  the 
good  of  the  cause,  and  the  assurance  he  had  given 
her  of  the  entire  ingenuousness  of  my  own  motive, 
had  induced  her  finally  to  yield.  After  some  talk 
as  to  the  significance  of  the  interview  before  me, 
which  I  was  too  much  agitated  to  comprehend,  he 
bade  me  follow  him. 

"  As  may  readily  be  supposed,  my  fancy,  from 
the  moment  Regnier  had  suggested  this  interview, 
had  been  exceedingly  busy  with  conjectures  as  to 
the  sort  of  scene  it  would  prove,  and  especially  as 
to  the  personality  of  her  who  was  to  be  the  cen 
tral  figure.  Except  his  intimation  that  the  inter 
view  would  be  necessarily  without  interchange  of 
speech  and  presumably  brief,  scarcely  more,  prob 
ably,  than  a  confrontation,  he  had  told  me  nothing. 


310  A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE 

Of  course,  however,  my  fancies  had  not  failed  to 
take  some  form.  I  think  I  had  a  general  expecta 
tion  of  finding  myself  in  the  presence  of  a  beautiful 
woman,  statuesquely  shaped  and  posed.  I  imagine 
that  I  rather  expected  her  to  be  enthroned  or  stand 
ing  upon  some  sort  of  dais,  and  I  am  sure  that  I 
should  not  have  been  surprised  had  there  been 
some  artificial  arrangement  of  lights  as  in  a  the 
atre  to  add  effectiveness  to  the  figure. 

"  I  followed  Regnier  through  several  rooms  with 
out  raising  my  eyes.  Presently  he  paused  and 
said,  '  My  daughter.' 

"  Thrilling  with  the  premonition  of  a  vision  of 
imperious  or  melting  loveliness  which  should  com 
pel  my  homage  by  its  mere  aspect,  I  raised  my 
eyes  to  find  myself  facing  a  plain-featured,  plainly 
dressed  young  woman,  not  ill-looking  certainly, 
but  destitute  of  a  single  trait  striking  enough  to 
have  won  a  second  glance  from  me  had  I  met  her 
on  the  street. 

"  Her  father  need  not  have  told  me  of  her  reluc 
tance  to  assume  the  part  his  wishes  had  imposed 
upon  her.  For  the  fraction  of  an  instant  only,  a 
pair  of  black  eyes  had  met  mine,  and  then  she  had 
bent  her  face  as  low  as  she  could.  The  downcast 
head,  the  burning  cheeks,  the  quick  heaving  of  the 
breast,  the  pendent  arms,  with  tensely  interlacing 
fingers  and  palms  turned  downward,  all  told  the 
story  of  a  shy  and  sensitive  girl  submitting  from 
a  sense  of  duty  to  a  painful  ordeal. 


A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE  311 

"  The  sudden  and  complete  wreck  of  all  my 
preconceptions  as  to  her  appearance,  as  well  as 
the  accessories  of  the  scene,  left  me  for  a  few 
moments  fairly  dazed.  Not  only  were  my  highly 
wrought  expectations  as  to  the  present  interview 
brought  to  humiliating  discomfiture,  but  the  influ 
ence  of  the  disillusionment  instantly  retroacted 
with  the  effect  of  making  the  entire  noble  and  ro 
mantic  cult  which  had  led  up  to  this  unlucky  con 
frontation  seem  a  mere  farrago  of  extravagant  and 
baseless  sentiment.  What  on  earth  had  Kegnier 
been  thinking  of,  to  plan  deliberately  a  situation 
calculated  to  turn  a  cherished  sentiment  into  ridi 
cule  ?  If  he  had  seriously  thought  his  daughter 
capable  of  supporting  the  role  he  had  assigned 
her,  had  there  ever  been  a  like  case  of  parental 
fatuity  ? 

"But  even  as  I  indignantly  asked  myself  this 
question,  I  saw  a  great  light,  and  recognized  that 
the  trouble  was  neither  with  Regnier's  fatuity 
nor  with  his  daughter's  lack  of  charms,  but  with 
myself,  and  a  most  unworthy  misconception  into 
which  I  had  fallen  as  to  the  whole  object  and  pur 
port  of  this  interview.  What  had  the  beauty  or 
the  lack  of  beauty  of  this  girl  to  do  with  the  pre 
sent  occasion  ?  I  was  not  here  to  render  homage 
to  her  for  the  beauty  of  her  sex,  but  for  its  per 
petual  consecration  and  everlasting  martyrdom  to 
my  race.  The  revulsion  of  feeling  which  followed 
the  recognition  of  the  grossness  of  the  mistake  I 


312  A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE 

had  made  had  no  doubt  the  effect  of  greatly  inten 
sifying  my  emotions.y^T  was  overcome  with  con 
trition  for  the  unworthiness  with  which  I  had 
stood  before  this  girl  who  had  so  trusted  to  my 
magnanimity,  appraising  her  like  a  sensualist  when 
I  should  have  been  on  my  knees  before  her.  A 
reaction  of  compunctious  loyalty  made  my  very 
heartstrings  ache.  I  saw  now  how  well  it  had 
been  for  a  weak-minded  fool  like  myself  that  she 
had  not  chanced  to  be  beautiful  or  even  pretty,  for 
then  I  should  have  cheated  myself  of  all  that  dis 
tinguished  this  solemn  meeting  from  the  merest 
lover's  antics.  I  won  in  that  moment  an  impres 
sion  of  the  tawdriness  of  mere  beauty  which  I 
have  never  gotten  over.  It  seemed  to  me  then, 
and  more  or  less  has  ever  since,  that  the  beauty  of 
women  is  a  sort  of  veil  which  hides  from  superficial 
eyes  the  true  adorableness  of  womanhood. 
"""**  Unable  longer  to  resist  the  magnetism  of  my 
gaze,  her  eyes  rose  slowly  to  mine.  At  their  first 
meeting,  her  face  became  crimson  ;  but  as  she  did 
not  avert  her  eyes,  and  continued  to  look  into 
mine,  the  flush  paled  swiftly  from  her  face,  and 
with  it  all  the  other  evidences  of  her  embarrass 
ment  passed  as  quickly  away,  leaving  her  bearing 
wholly  changed.  It  was  plain  that  through  my 
eyes,  which  in  that  moment  must  have  been  truly 
windows  of  my  soul,  she  had  read  my  inmost 
thoughts,  and  had  perceived  how  altogether  im 
pertinent  to  their  quality  self-consciousness  on  her 


A  POSITIVE   ROMANCE  313 

part  would  be.  As  with  a  gaze  growing  ever 
more  serene  and  steadfast  she  continued  to  read 
my  thoughts,  her  face  changed,  and  from  the  look 
of  a  shy  and  timid  maiden  it  gradually  took  on 
that  of  a  conscious  goddess.  Then,  as  still  she 
read  on,  there  came  another  change.  The  soft 
black  eyes  grew  softer  and  yet  softer,  and  then 
slowly  filled  with  tears  till  they  were  like  brim 
ming  vases.  She  did  not  smile,  but  her  brows 
and  lips  assumed  a  look  of  benignant  sweetness 
indescribable. 

"  In  that  moment  no  supernatural  aureole  would 
have  added  sacredness  to  that  head,  or  myth  of 
heavenly  origin  have  made  that  figure  seem  more 
adorable.  With  right  good-will  I  sank  upon  my 
knees.  She  reached  forth  her  hand  to  me  and  I 
pressed  my  lips  to  it.  I  lifted  up  the  hem  of  her 
dress  and  kissed  it.  There  was  a  rustle  of  gar 
ments.  I  looked  up  and  she  was  gone. 

"  I  suppose  immediately  after  that  I  must  have 
left  the  house.  I  only  know  that  the  dawn  found 
me  miles  out  of  town,  walking  aimlessly  about  and 
talking  to  myself." 

Hammond  poured  himself  a  glass  of  wine,  drunk 
it  slowly,  and  then  fell  into  a  profound  reverie, 
apparently  forgetful  of  my  presence. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  I  asked  at  last.  "  Did  you  not 
see  her  again  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  never  saw  her  again. 
Probably,  as  her  father  had  intimated,  he  did  not 


314  A  POSITIVE  ROMANCE 

intend  that  I  should.  But  circumstances  also  pre 
vented.  The  very  next  day  there  was  an  explosion 
in  college.  There  had  been  a  Judas  among  my 
fellow-disciples,  and  the  faculty  had  been  informed 
of  the  Positivist  propaganda  going  on  under  their 
noses.  I  was  suspended  for  six  months.  When 
I  returned  to  college,  Kegnier  had  disappeared. 
He  had  of  course  been  promptly  dismissed,  and  it 
was  rumored  that  he  had  gone  back  to  France. 
He  had  left  no  trace,  and  I  never  heard  of  him 
again  or  of  his  daughter.  I  don't  even  know  the 
name  of  the  woman  I  worshiped." 


LOST 

t 

THE  25th  of  May,  1866,  was  no  doubt  to  many 
a  quite  indifferent  date,  but  to  two  persons  it  was 
the  saddest  day  of  their  lives.  Charles  Randall 
that  day  left  Bonn,  Germany,  to  catch  the  steamer 
home  to  America,  and  Ida  Werner  was  left  with 
a  mountain  of  grief  on  her  gentle  bosom,  which 
must  be  melted  away  drop  by  drop,  in  tears,  be 
fore  she  could  breathe  freely  again. 

A  year  before,  Randall,  hunting  for  apartments, 
his  last  term  at  the  university  just  begun,  had  seen 
the  announcement,  "  Zimmer  zu  vermiethen"  in 
the  hall  below  the  flat  where  the  Werners  lived. 
Ida  answered  his  ring,  for  her  father  was  still  at 
his  government  office,  and  her  mother  had  gone 
out  to  the  market  to  buy  the  supper.  She  would 
much  rather  her  mother  had  been  at  home  to  show 
the  gentleman  the  rooms ;  but,  knowing  that  they 
could  not  afford  to  lose  a  chance  to  rent  them,  she 
plucked  up  courage,  and,  candle  in  hand,  showed 
him  through  the  suite.  When  he  came  next  day 
with  his  baggage,  he  learned  for  the  first  time 
what  manner  of  apartments  he  had  engaged ;  for 
although  he  had  protracted  the  investigation  the 
previous  evening  to  the  furthest  corner,  and  had 


316  LOST 

been  most  exacting  as  to  explanations,  he  had 
really  rented  the  rooms  entirely  on  account  of  a 
certain  light  in  which  a  set  of  Madonna  features, 
in  auburn  hair,  had  shown  at  the  first  opening  of 
the  door. 

A  year  had  passed  since  this,  and  a  week  ago  a 
letter  from  home  had  stated  that  his  father,  indig 
nant  at  his  unexplained  stay  six  months  beyond 
the  end  of  his  course,  had  sent  him  one  last  remit 
tance,  barely  sufficient  for  a  steamer  ticket,  with 
the  intimation  that  if  he  did  not  return  on  a  set 
day,  he  must  thenceforth  attend  to  his  own  ex 
chequer.  The  25th  was  the  last  day  on  which  he 
could  leave  Bonn  to  catch  the  requisite  steamer. 
Had  it  been  in  November,  nature  at  least  would 
have  sympathized  ;  it  was  cruel  that  their  autumn 
time  of  separation  should  fall  in  the  spring,  when 
the  sky  is  full  of  bounteous  promise  and  the  earth 
of  blissful  trust. 

Love  is  so  improvident  that  a  parting  a  year 
away  is  no  more  feared  than  death,  arid  a  month's 
end  seems  dim  and  distant.  But  a  week,  —  a  week 
only,  —  that  even  to  love  is  short,  and  the  begin 
ning  of  the  end.  The  chilling  mist  that  rose  from 
the  gulf  of  separation  so  near  before  them  over 
shadowed  all  the  brief  remnant  of  their  path. 
They  were  constantly  together.  But  a  silence  had 
come  upon  them.  Never  had  words  seemed  idler, 
they  had  so  much  to  say.  They  could  say  nothing 
that  did  not  mock  the  weight  on  their  hearts,  and 


LOST  317 

seem  trivial  and  impertinent  because  it  was  exclu 
sive  of  more  important  matter.  The  utmost  they 
could  do  was  to  lay  their  hearts  open  toward  each 
other  to  receive  every  least  impression  of  voice, 
and  look,  and  manner,  to  be  remembered  after 
ward.  At  evening  they  went  into  the  minster 
church,  and,  sitting  in  the  shadows,  listened  to  the 
sweet,  shrill  choir  of  boys  whose  music  distilled 
the  honey  of  sorrow ;  and  as  the  deep  bass  organ 
chords  gripped  their  hearts  with  the  tones  that 
underlie  all  weal  and  woe,  they  looked  in  each 
other's  eyes,  and  did  for  a  space  feel  so  near  that 
all  the  separation  that  could  come  after  seemed  but 
a  trifling  thing. 

It  was  all  arranged  between  them.  He  was  to 
earn  money,  or  get  a  position  in  business,  and 
return  in  a  year  or  two  at  most  and  bring  her  to 
America. 

"  Oh,"  she  said  once,  "  if  I  could  but  sleep  till 
thou  comest  again  to  wake  me,  how  blessed  I 
should  be  ;  but,  alas,  I  must  wake  all  through  the 
desolate  time  ! " 

Although  for  the  most  part  she  comforted  him 
rather  than  he  her,  yet  at  times  she  gave  way,  and 
once  suddenly  turned  to  him  and  hid  her  face 
on  his  breast,  and  said,  trembling  with  tearless 
sobs :  — 

"  I  know  I  shall  never  see  thee  more,  Karl. 
Thou  wilt  forget  me  in  thy  great,  far  land  and  wilt 
love  another.  My  heart  tells  me  so." 


818  LOST 

And  then  she  raised  her  head,  and  her  stream 
ing  eyes  blazed  with  anger. 

"I  will  hover  about  thee,  and  if  thou  lovest 
another,  I  will  kill  her  as  she  sleeps  by  thy  side." 

And  the  woman  must  have  loved  him  much  who, 
after  seeing  that  look  of  hers,  would  have  married 
him.  But  a  moment  after  she  was  listening  with 
abject  ear  to  his  promises. 

The  day  came  at  last.  He  was  to  leave  at  three 
o'clock.  After  the  noontide  meal,  Ida's  mother 
sat  with  them  and  they  talked  a  little  about  Amer 
ica,  Frau  Werner  exerting  herself  to  give  a  cheer 
ful  tone  to  the  conversation,  and  Randall  answer 
ing  her  questions  absently  and  without  taking  his 
eyes  off  Ida,  who  felt  herself  beginning  to  be 
seized  with  a  nervous  trembling.  At  last  Frau 
Werner  rose  and  silently  left  the  room,  looking 
back  at  them  as  she  closed  the  door  with  eyes  full 
of  tears.  Then,  as  if  by  a  common  impulse,  they 
rose  and  put  their  arms  about  each  other's  necks, 
and  their  lips  met  in  a  long,  shuddering  kiss. 
The  breath  came  quicker  and  quicker  ;  sobs  broke 
the  kisses  ;  tears  poured  down  and  made  them  salt 
and  bitter,  as  parting  kisses  should  be  in  which 
sweetness  is  mockery.  Hitherto  they  had  con 
trolled  their  feelings,  or  rather  she  had  controlled 
him  ;  but  it  was  no  use  any  longer,  for  the  time 
had  come,  and  they  abandoned  themselves  to  the 
terrible  voluptuousness  of  unrestrained  grief,  in 
which  there  is  a  strange,  meaningless  suggestion  of 


LOST  319 

power,  as  though  it  might  possibly  be  a  force  that 
could  affect  or  remove  its  own  cause  if  but  wild 
and  strong  enough. 

"  Herr  Randall,  the  carriage  waits  and  you  will 
lose  the  train,"  said  Frau  Werner  from  the  door, 
in  a  husky  voice. 

"  I  will  not  go,  by  God ! "  he  swore,  as  he  felt 
her  clasp  convulsively  strengthen  at  the  summons. 
The  lesser  must  yield  to  the  greater,  and  no  loss 
or  gain  on  earth  was  worth  the  grief  upon  her 
face.  His  father  might  disinherit  him,  America 
might  sink,  but  she  must  smile  again.  And  she 
did,  —  brave,  true  girl  and  lover.  The  devotion 
his  resolute  words  proved  was  like  a  strong  nervine 
to  restore  her  self-control.  She  smiled  as  well  as 
her  trembling  lips  would  let  her,  and  said,  as  she 
loosed  him  from  her  arms :  — 

"  No,  thou  must  go,  Karl.  But  thou  wilt  re 
turn,  nicht  wdhr  ?  " 

I  would  not  venture  to  say  how  many  times  he 
rushed  to  the  door,  and,  glancing  back  at  her  as 
she  stood  there  desolate,  followed  his  glance  once 
more  to  her  side.  Finally,  Frau  Werner  led  him 
as  one  dazed  to  the  carriage,  and  the  impatient 
driver  drove  off  at  full  speed. 

It  is  seven  years  later,  and  Randall  is  pacing 
the  deck  of  an  ocean  steamer,  outward  bound  from 
New  York.  It  is  the  evening  of  the  first  day  out. 
Here  and  there  passengers  are  leaning  over  the 


320  LOST 

bulwarks,  pensively  regarding  the  sinking  sun  as 
it  sets  for  the  first  time  between  them  and  their 
native  land,  or  maybe  taking  in  with  awed  faces 
the  wonder  of  the  deep,  which  has  haunted  their 
imaginations  from  childhood.  Others  are  already 
busily  striking  up  acquaintances  with  fellow-pas 
sengers,  and  a  bridal  pair  over  yonder  sit  thrilling 
with  the  sense  of  isolation  from  the  world  that 
so  emphasizes  their  mutual  dependence  and  all- 
importance  to  each  other.  And  other  groups  are 
talking  business,  and  referring  to  money  and  mar 
kets  in  New  York,  London,  and  Frankfort  as 
glibly  as  if  they  were  on  land,  much  to  the  secret 
shock  of  certain  raw  tourists,  who  marvel  at  the  iii- 
sensitiveness  of  men  who,  thus  speeding  between 
two  worlds,  and  freshly  in  the  presence  of  the 
most  august  and  awful  form  of  nature,  can  keep 
their  minds  so  steadily  fixed  upon  cash-books  and 
ledgers. 

But  Randall,  as,  with  the  habit  of  an  old  voy 
ager,  he  already  falls  to  pacing  the  deck,  is  too 
much  engrossed  with  his  own  thoughts  to  pay 
much  heed  to  these  things.  Only,  as  he  passes  a 
group  of  Germans,  and  the  familiar  accents  of  the 
sweet,  homely  tongue  fall  on  his  ear,  he  pauses, 
and  lingers  near. 

The  darkness  gathers,  the  breeze  freshens,  the 
waves  come  tumbling  out  of  the  east,  and  the  mo 
tion  of  the  ship  increases  as  she  rears  upward  to 
meet  them.  The  groups  on  deck  are  thinning  out 


LOST  321 

fast,  as  the  passengers  go  below  to  enjoy  the  fear 
some  novelty  of  the  first  night  at  sea,  and  to  com 
pose  themselves  to  sleep  as  it  were  in  the  hollow  of 
God's  hand.  But  long  into  the  night  Eandall's 
cigar  still  marks  his  pacing  up  and  down  as  he 
ponders,  with  alternations  of  tender,  hopeful  glow 
and  sad  foreboding,  the  chances  of  his  quest.  Will 
he  find  her  ? 

It  is  necessary  to  go  back  a  little.  When  Ean- 
dall  reached  America  on  his  return  from  Germany, 
he  immediately  began  to  sow  his  wild  oats,  and 
gave  his  whole  mind  to  it.  Answering  Ida's  let 
ters  got  to  be  a  bore,  and  he  gradually  ceased 
doing  it.  Then  came  a  few  sad  reproaches  from 
her,  and  their  correspondence  ceased.  Meanwhile, 
having  had  his  youthful  fling,  he  settled  down  as 
a  steady  young  man  of  business.  One  day  he  was 
surprised  to  observe  that  he  had  of  late  insensibly 
fallen  into  the  habit  of  thinking  a  good  deal  in  a 
pensive  sort  of  way  about  Ida  and  those  German 
days.  The  notion  occurred  to  him  that  he  would 
hunt  up  her  picture,  which  he  had  not  thought  of 
in  five  years.  With  misty  eyes  and  crowding 
memories  he  pored  over  it,  and  a  wave  of  regret 
ful,  yearning  tenderness  filled  his  breast. 

Late  one  night,  after  long  search,  he  found 
among  his  papers  a  bundle  of  her  old  letters,  al 
ready  growing  yellow.  Being  exceedingly  rusty 
in  his  German,  he  had  to  study  them  out  word  by 
word.  That  night,  till  the  sky  grew  gray  in  the 


322  LOST 

east,  he  sat  there  turning  the  pages  of  the  diction 
ary  with  wet  eyes  and  glowing  face,  and  selecting 
definitions  by  the  test  of  the  heart.  He  found 
that  some  of  these  letters  he  had  never  before 
taken  the  pains  to  read  through.  In  the  bitter 
ness  of  his  indignation,  he  cursed  the  fool  who  had 
thrown  away  a  love  so  loyal  and  priceless. 

All  this  time  he  had  been  thinking  of  Ida  as  if 
dead,  so  far  off  in  another  world  did  those  days 
seem.  It  was  with  extraordinary  effect  that  the 
idea  finally  flashed  upon  him  that  she  was  prob 
ably  alive,  and  now  in  the  prime  of  her  beauty. 
After  a  period  of  feverish  and  impassioned  excite 
ment,  he  wrote  a  letter  full  of  wild  regret  and 
beseeching,  and  an  ineffable  tenderness.  Then  he 
waited.  After  a  long  time  it  came  back  from  the 
German  dead-letter  office.  There  was  no  person 
of  the  name  at  the  address.  She  had  left  Bonn, 
then.  Hastily  setting  his  affairs  in  order,  he 
sailed  for  Germany  on  the  next  steamer. 

The  incidents  of  the  voyage  were  a  blank  in  his 
mind.  On  reaching  Bonn,  he  went  straight  from 

the  station  to  the  old  house  in strasse.  As 

he  turned  into  it  from  the  scarcely  less  familiar 
streets  leading  thither,  and  noted  each  accustomed 
landmark,  he  seemed  to  have  just  returned  to  tea 
from  an  afternoon  lecture  at  the  university.  In 
every  feature  of  the  street  some  memory  lurked, 
and,  as  he  passed,  threw  out  delaying  tendrils, 
clutching  at  his  heart.  Rudely  he  broke  away, 


LOST  323 

hastening  on  to  that  house  near  the  end  of  the 
street,  in  each  of  whose  quaint  windows  fancy 
framed  the  longed-for  face.  She  was  not  there,  he 
knew,  but  for  a  while  he  stood  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  unmindful  of  the  stares  and  jostling  of 
the  passers-by,  gazing  at  the  house-front,  and  letting 
himself  imagine  from  moment  to  moment  that  her 
figure  might  flit  across  some  window,  or  issue  from 
the  door,  basket  in  hand,  for  the  evening  market 
ing,  on  which  journey  he  had  so  often  accompanied 
her.  At  length,  crossing  the  street,  he  inquired 
for  the  Werner  family.  The  present  tenants  had 
never  heard  the  name.  Perhaps  the  tenants  from 
whom  they  had  received  the  house  might  be  better 
informed.  Where  were  they?  They  had  moved 
to  Cologne.  He  next  went  to  the  Bonn  police-office, 
and  from  the  records  kept  there,  in  which  pretty 
much  everything  about  every  citizen  is  set  down, 
ascertained  that  several  years  previous  Herr  Wer 
ner  had  died  of  apoplexy,  and  that  no  one  of  the 
name  was  now  resident  in  the  city.  Next  day  he 
went  to  Cologne,  hunted  up  the  former  tenants  of 
the  house,  and  found  that  they  remembered  quite 
distinctly  the  Werner  family,  and  the  death  of  the 
father  and  only  breadwinner.  It  had  left  the 
mother  and  daughter  quite  without  resources,  as 
Randall  had  known  must  probably  have  been  the 
case.  His  informants  had  heard  that  they  had 
gone  to  Diisseldorf. 

His  search  had  become  a  fever.     After  waiting 


324  LOST 

seven  years,  a  delay  of  ten  minutes  was  unendura 
ble.  The  trains  seemed  to  creep.  And  yet,  on 
reaching  Diisseldorf,  he  did  not  at  once  go  about 
his  search,  but  said  to  himself  :  — 

"  Let  me  not  risk  the  killing  of  my  last  hope  till 
I  have  warmed  myself  with  it  one  more  night,  for 
to-morrow  there  may  be  no  more  warmth  in  it." 

He  went  to  a  hotel,  ordered  a  room  and  a  bottle 
of  wine,  and  sat  over  it  all  night,  indulging  the 
belief  that  he  would  find  her  the  next  day.  He 
denied  his  imagination  nothing,  but  conjured  up 
before  his  mind's  eye  the  lovely  vision  of  her  fair 
est  hour,  complete  even  to  the  turn  of  the  neck,  the 
ribbon  in  the  hair,  and  the  light  in  the  blue  eyes. 
So  he  would  turn  into  the  street.  Yes,  here  was 
the  number.  Then  he  rings  the  bell.  She  comes 
to  the  door.  She  regards  him  a  moment  indiffer 
ently.  Then  amazed  recognition,  love,  happiness, 
transfigure  her  face.  "  Ida !  "  "  Karl !  "  and  he 
clasps  her  sobbing  to  his  bosom,  from  which  she 
shall  never  be  sundered  again. 

The  result  of  his  search  next  day  was  the  dis 
covery  that  mother  and  daughter  had  been  at  Diis 
seldorf  until  about  four  years  previous,  where  the 
mother  had  died  of  consumption,  and  the  daugh 
ter  had  removed,  leaving  no  address.  The  lodg 
ings  occupied  by  them  were  of  a  wretched  char 
acter,  showing  that  their  circumstances  must  have 
been  very  much  reduced. 

There  was  now  no  further   clue  to   guide   his 


LOST  325 

search.  It  was  destined  that  the  last  he  was  to 
know  of  her  should  be  that  she  was  thrown  on  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  world,  —  her  last  friend  gone, 
her  last  penny  expended.  She  was  buried  out  of 
his  sight,  not  in  the  peaceful  grave,  with  its  tender 
associations,  but  buried  alive  in  the  living  world  ; 
hopelessly  hid  in  the  huge,  writhing  confusion  of 
humanity.  He  lingered  in  the  folly  of  despair 
about  those  sordid  lodgings  in  Diisseldorf,  as  one 
might  circle  vainly  about  the  spot  in  the  ocean 
where  some  pearl  of  great  price  had  fallen  over 
board. 

After  a  while  he  roused  again,  and  began  put 
ting  advertisements  for  Ida  into  the  principal  news 
papers  of  Germany,  and  making  random  visits  to 
towns  all  about  to  consult  directories  and  police 
records.  A  singular  sort  of  misanthropy  possessed 
him.  He  cursed  the  multitude  of  towns  and  vil 
lages  that  reduced  the  chances  in  his  favor  to  so 

O 

small  a  thing.  He  cursed  the  teeming  throngs  of 
men,  women,  and  children,  in  whose  mass  she  was 
lost,  as  a  jewel  in  a  mountain  of  rubbish.  Had  he 
possessed  the  power,  he  would  in  those  days,  with 
out  an  instant's  hesitation,  have  swept  the  bewilder 
ing,  obstructing  millions  of  Germany  out  of  exist 
ence,  as  the  miner  washes  away  the  earth  to  bring 
to  light  the  grain  of  gold  in  his  pan.  He  must 
have  scanned  a  million  women's  faces  in  that  weary 
search,  and  the  bitterness  of  that  million-fold  dis 
appointment  left  its  trace  in  a  feeling  of  aversion 


326  LOST 

for  the  feminine   countenance  and  figure  that  he 
was  long  in  overcoming. 

Knowing  that  only  by  some  desperate  chance  he 
could  hope  to  meet  her  in  his  random  wanderings, 
it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  more  likely  to  be  suc 
cessful  by  resigning  as  far  as  possible  all  volition, 
and  leaving  the  guidance  of  the  search  to  chance  ; 
as  if  Fortune  were  best  disposed  toward  those  who 
most  entirely  abdicated  intelligence  and  trusted 
themselves  to  her.  He  sacredly  followed  every 
impulse,  never  making  up  his  mind  an  hour  before 
at  what  station  he  should  leave  the  cars,  and  turn 
ing  to  the  right  or  left  in  his  wanderings  through 
the  streets  of  cities,  as  much  as  possible  without 
intellectual  choice.  Sometimes,  waking  suddenly 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  he  would  rise,  dress 
with  eager  haste,  and  sally  out  to  wander  through 
the  dark  streets,  thinking  he  might  be  led  of  Provi 
dence  to  meet  her.  And,  once  out,  nothing  but 
utter  exhaustion  could  drive  him  back ;  for  how 
could  he  tell  but  in  the  moment  after  he  had  gone, 
she  might  pass  ?  He  had  recourse  to  every  super 
stition  of  sortilege,  clairvoyance,  presentiment,  and 
dreams.  And  all  the  time  his  desperation  was 
singularly  akin  to  hope.  He  dared  revile  no  seem 
ing  failure,  not  knowing  but  just  that  was  the  ne 
cessary  link  in  the  chain  of  accidents  destined  to 
bring  him  face  to  face  with  her.  The  darkest  hour 
might  usher  in  the  sunburst.  The  possibility  that 
this  was  at  last  the  blessed  chance  lit  up  his  eyes 


LOST  327 

ten  thousand  times  as  they  fell  on  some  new 
face. 

But  at  last  he  found  himself  back  in  Bonn,  with 
the  feverish  infatuation  of  the  gambler,  which  had 
succeeded  hope  in  his  mind,  succeeded  in  turn  by 
utter  despair!  His  sole  occupation  now  was  re 
visiting  the  spots  which  he  had  frequented  with 
her  in  that  happy  year.  As  one  who  has  lost  a 
princely  fortune  sits  down  at  length  to  enumerate 
the  little  items  of  property  that  happen  to  be  at 
tached  to  his  person,  disregarded  before  but  now 
his  all,  so  Randall  counted  up  like  a  miser  the  little 
store  of  memories  that  were  thenceforth  to  be  his 
all.  Wonderfully,  the  smallest  details  of  those 
days  came  back  to  him.  The  very  seats  they  sat 
in  at  public  places,  the  shops  they  entered  together, 
their  promenades  and  the  pausing-places  on  them, 
revived  in  memory  under  a  concentrated  inward 
gaze  like  invisible  paintings  brought  over  heat. 

One  afternoon,  after  wandering  about  the  city  for 
some  hours,  he  turned  into  a  park  to  rest.  As  he 
approached  his  usual  bench,  sacred  to  him  because 
Ida  and  he  in  the  old  days  had  often  sat  there,  he 
was  annoyed  to  see  it  already  occupied  by  a  plea 
sant-faced,  matronly  looking  German  woman,  who 
was  complacently  listening  to  the  chatter  of  a  cou 
ple  of  small  children.  Randall  threw  himself  upon 
the  unoccupied  end  of  the  bench,  rather  hoping 
that  his  gloomy  and  preoccupied  air  might  cause 
them  to  depart  and  leave  him  to  his  melancholy 


328  LOST 

reverie.  And,  indeed,  it  was  not  long  before  the 
children  stopped  their  play  and  gathered  timidly 
about  their  mother,  and  soon  after  the  bench  tilted 
slightly  as  she  relieved  it  of  her  substantial  charms, 
saying  in  a  cheery,  pleasant  voice  :  — 

"  Come,  little  ones,  the  father  will  be  at  home 
before  us." 

It  was  a  secluded  part  of  the  garden,  and  the 
plentiful  color  left  her  cheeks  as  the  odd  gentle 
man  at  the  other  end  of  the  bench  turned  with  a 
great  start  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  trans 
fixed  her  with  a  questioning  look.  But  in  a  mo 
ment  he  said  :  — 

"  Pardon  me,  madame,  a  thousand  times.  The 
sound  of  your  voice  so  reminded  me  of  a  friend  I 
have  lost  that  I  looked  up  involuntarily." 

The  woman  responded  with  good-natured  assur 
ances  that  he  had  not  at  all  alarmed  her.  Mean 
while  Randall  had  an  opportunity  to  notice  that,  in 
spite  of  the  thick-waisted  and  generally  matronly 
figure,  there  were,  now  he  came  to  look  closely, 
several  rather  marked  resemblances  to  Ida.  The 
eyes  were  of  the  same  blue  tint,  though  about  half 
as  large,  the  cheeks  being  twice  as  full.  In  spite 
of  the  ugly  style  of  dressing  it,  he  saw  also  that  the 
hair  was  like  Ida's ;  and  as  for  the  nose,  that  fea 
ture  which  changes  least,  it  might  have  been  taken 
out  of  Ida's  own  face.  As  may  be  supposed,  he 
was  thoroughly  disgusted  to  be  reminded  of  that 
sweet  girlish  vision  by  this  broadly  moulded,  com- 


LOST  329 

fortable-looking  matron.  His  romantic  mood  was 
scattered  for  that  evening  at  least,  and  he  knew 
he  should  not  get  the  prosaic  suggestions  of  the 
unfortunate  resemblance  out  of  his  mind  for  a 
week  at  least.  It  would  torment  him  as  a  humor 
ous  association  spoils  a  sacred  hymn. 

He  bowed  with  rather  an  ill  grace,  and  was  about 
to  retire,  when  a  certain  peculiar  turn  of  the  neck, 
as  the  lady  acknowledged  his  salute,  caught  his  eye 
and  turned  him  to  stone.  Good  God  !  this  woman 
was  Ida ! 

He  stood  there  in  a  condition  of  mental  paraly 
sis.  The  whole  fabric  of  his  thinking  and  feeling 
for  months  of  intense  emotional  experience  had 
instantly  been  annihilated,  and  he  was  left  in  the 
midst  of  a  great  void  in  his  consciousness  out  of 
touching-reach  of  anything.  There  was  no  sharp 
pang,  but  just  a  bewildered  numbness.  A  few  fila 
ments  only  of  the  romantic  feeling  for  Ida  that 
filled  his  mind  a  moment  before  still  lingered,  float 
ing  about  it,  unattached  to  anything,  like  vague 
neuralgic  feelings  in  an  amputated  stump,  as  if  to 
remind  him  of  what  had  been  there. 

All  this  was  as  instantaneous  as  a  galvanic  shock 
the  moment  he  had  recognized  —  let  us  not  say 
Ida,  but  this  evidence  that  she  was  no  more.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  the  woman,  who  stood  staring, 
was  in  common  politeness  entitled  to  some  expla 
nation.  He  was  in  just  that  state  of  mind  when, 
the  only  serious  interest  having  suddenly  dropped 


330  LOST 

out  of  the  life,  the  minor  conventionalities  loom  up 
as  peculiarly  important  and  obligatory. 

"  You  were  Fraiilein  Ida  Werner,  and  lived  at 
No. strasse  in  1866,  nicht  wahr  ?  " 

He  spoke  in  a  cold,  dead  tone,  as  if  making  a 
necessary  but  distasteful  explanation  to  a  stranger. 

"  Yes,  truly,"  replied  the  woman  curiously  ; 
"  but  my  name  is  now  Frau  Stein,"  glancing  at 
the  children,  who  had  been  staring  open-mouthed 
at  the  queer  man. 

"  Do  you  remember  Karl  Randall  ?     I  am  he." 

The  most  formal  of  old  acquaintances  could 
hardly  have  recalled  himself  in  a  more  indifferent 
manner. 

"  Herr  Gott  im  Himmel!"  exclaimed  the  wo 
man,  with  the  liveliest  surprise  and  interest. 
"  Karl !  Is  it  possible  ?  Yes,  now  I  recognize  you. 
Surely !  surely  !  " 

She  clapped  one  hand  to  her  bosom,  and  dropped 
on  the  bench  to  recover  herself.  Fleshy  people, 
overcome  by  agitation,  are  rather  disagreeable  ob 
jects.  Randall  stood  looking  at  her  with  a  singular 
expression  of  aversion  on  his  listless  face.  But, 
after  panting  a  few  times,  the  woman  recovered  her 
vivacity  and  began  to  ply  him  vigorously  with  ex 
clamations  and  questions,  beaming  the  while  with 
delighted  interest.  He  answered  her  like  a  school 
boy,  too  destitute  of  presence  of  mind  to  do  other 
wise  than  to  yield  passively  to  her  impulse.  But 
he  made  no  inquiries  whatever  of  her,  and  did  not 


LOST  331 

distantly  allude  to  the  reason  of  his  presence  in 
Germany.  As  he  stood  there  looking  at  her,  the 
real  facts  about  that  matter  struck  him  as  so  ab 
surd  and  incredible  that  he  could  not  believe  them 
himself. 

Pretty  soon  he  observed  that  she  was  becoming 
a  little  conscious  in  her  air,  and  giving  a  slightly 
sentimental  turn  to  the  conversation.  It  was  not 
for  some  time  that  he  saw  her  drift,  so  utterly  with 
out  connection  in  his  mind  were  Ida  and  this  com 
fortable  matron  before  him ;  and  when  he  did,  a 
smile  at  the  exquisite  absurdity  of  the  thing  barely 
twitched  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  ended  in  a 
sad,  puzzled  stare  that  rather  put  the  other  out  of 
countenance. 

But  the  children  had  now  for  some  time  been 
whimpering  for  supper  and  home,  and  at  length 
Frau  Stein  rose,  and,  with  an  urgent  request  that 
Eandall  should  call  on  her  and  see  her  husband, 
bade  him  a  cordial  adieu.  He  stood  there  watch 
ing  her  out  of  sight,  with  an  unconscious  smile  of 
the  most  refined  and  subtle  cynicism.  Then  he  sat 
down  and  stared  vacantly  at  the  close-cropped  grass 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  path.  By  what  handle 
should  he  lay  hold  of  his  thoughts  ? 

That  woman  could  not  retroact  and  touch  the 
memory  of  Ida.  That  dear  vision  remained  intact. 
He  drew  forth  his  locket,  and  opening  it  gazed  pas 
sionately  at  the  fair  girlish  face,  now  so  hopelessly 
passed  away.  By  that  blessed  picture  he  could 


332  LOST 


hold  her  and  ^de^jtliajKoman.  Remembering  that 
fat,  jolly,  comfortable  matron,  he  should  not  at 
least  ever  again  have  to  reproach  himself  with  his 
cruel  treatment  of  Ida.  And  yet  why  not?  What 
had  the  woman  to  do  with  her  ?  She  had  suffered 
as  much  as  if  the  woman  had  not  forgotten  it  all. 

<j 

His  reckoning  was  with  Ida,  —  was  with  her. 
Where  should  he  find  her  ?  In  what  limbo  could 
he  imagine  her  ?  Ah,  that  was  the  wildering  cruelty 
of  it.  She  was  not  this  woman,  nor  was  she  dead 
in  any  conceivable  natural  way  so  that  her  girlish 
spirit  might  have  remained  eternally  fixed.  She 
was  nothing.  She  was  nowhere.  She  existed  only 
in  this  locket,  and  her  only  soul  was  in  his  heart, 
far  more  surely  than  in  this  woman  who  had  for 
gotten  her. 

Death  was  a  hopeful,  cheerful  state  compared  to 
that  nameless  nothingness  that  was  her  portion. 
For  had  she  been  dead,  he  could  still  have  loved  her 
soul  ;  but  now  she  had  none.  The  soul  that  once 
she  had,  and,  if  she  had  then  died,  might  have  kept, 
had  been  forfeited  by  living  on,  and  had  passed  to 
this  woman,  and  would  from  her  pass  on  further 
till  finally  fixed  and  vested  in  the  decrepitude  of 
age  by  death.  So,  then,  it  was  death  and  not  life 
that  secured  the  soul,  and  his  sweet  Ida  had  none 
because  she  had  not  died  in  time.  Ah  !  had  not  he 
heard  somewhere  that  the  soul  is  immortal  and 
never  dies  ?  Where,  then,  was  Ida's  ?  She  had 
disappeared  utterly  out  of  the  universe.  She  had 


LOST  333 

been  transformed,  destroyed,  swallowed  up  in  this 
woman,  a  living  sepulchre,  more  cruel  than  the 
grave,  for  it  devoured  the  soul  as  well  as  the  body. 
Pah  !  tins  prating  about  immortality  was  absurd, 
convicted  of  meaninglessness  before  a  tragedy  like 
this ;  for  what  was  an  immortality  worth  that  was 
given  to  her  last  decrepit  phase  of  life,  after  all  its 
beauty  and  strength  and  loveliness  had  passed  soul 
less  away  ?  To  be  aught  but  a  mockery,  immortal 
ity  must  be  as  manifold  as  the  manifold  phases  of 
life.  Since  life  devours  so  many  souls,  why  sup 
pose  death  will  spare  the  last  one  ? 

But  he  would  contend  with  destiny.  Painters 
should  multiply  the  face  in  his  locket.  He  would 
immortalize  her  in  a  poem.  He  would  constantly 
keep  the  lamp  trimmed  and  burning  before  her 
shrine  in  his  heart.  She  should  live  in  spite  of  the 
woman. 

But  he  could  now  never  make  amends  to  her  for 
the  suffering  his  cruel,  neglectful  youth  had  caused 
her.  He  had  scarcely  realized  before  how  much 
the  longing  to  make  good  that  wrong  had  influ 
enced  his  quest  of  her.  Tears  of  remorse  for  an 
unatonable  crime  gatherecf  in  his  eyes.  He  might, 
indeed,  enrich  this  woman,  or  educate  her  children, 
or  pension  her  husband ;  but  that  would  be  no 
atonement  to  Ida. 

And  then,  as  if  to  intensify  that  remorse  by  show 
ing  still  more  clearly  the  impossibility  of  atone 
ment,  it  flashed  on  him  that  he  who  loved  Ida  was 


334  LOST 

not  the  one  to  atone  for  an  offense  of  which  he 
would  be  incapable,  which  had  been  committed  by 
one  who  despised  her  love.  Justice  was  a  meaning 
less  word,  and  amends  were  never  possible,  nor  can 
men  ever  make  atonement ;  for,  ere  the  debt  is  paid, 
the  atonement  made,  one  who  is  not  the  sufferer 
stands  to  receive  it ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
one  who  atones  is  not  the  offender,  but  one  who 
comes  after  him,  loathing  his  offense  and  himself 
incapable  of  it.  The  dead  must  bury  their  dead. 
And,  thus  pondering  from  personal  to  general 
thoughts,  the  turmoil  of  his  feelings  gradually 
calmed,  and  a  restful  melancholy,  vague  and  tender, 
filled  the  aching  void  in  his  heart. 


WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT 

RAILROAD  rides  are  naturally  tiresome  to  per 
sons  who  cannot  read  on  the  cars,  and,  being  one 
of  those  unfortunates,  I  resigned  myself,  on  taking 
my  seat  in  the  train,  to  several  hours  of  tedium, 
alleviated  only  by  such  cat-naps  as  I  might  achieve. 
Partly  on  account  of  my  infirmity,  though  more  on 
account  of  a  taste  for  rural  quiet  and  retirement, 
my  railroad  journeys  are  few  and  far  between. 
Strange  as  the  statement  may  seem  in  days  like 
these,  it  had  actually  been  five  years  since  I  had 
been  on  an  express  train  of  a  trunk  line.  Now, 
as  every  one  knows,  the  improvements  in  the  con 
veniences  of  the  best  equipped  trains  have  in  that 
period  been  very  great,  and  for  a  considerable 
time  I  found  myself  amply  entertained  in  taking 
note  first  of  one  ingenious  device  and  then  of 
another,  and  wondering  what  would  come  next. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  hour,  however,  I  was  pleased 
to  find  that  I  was  growing  comfortably  drowsy, 
and  proceeded  to  compose  myself  for  a  nap,  which 
I  hoped  might  last  to  my  destination. 

Presently  I  was  touched  on  the  shoulder,  and  a 
train  boy  asked  me  if  I  would  not  like  something 
to  read.  I  replied,  rather  petulantly,  that  I  could 


336  WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT 

not  read  on  the  cars,  and  only  wanted  to  be  let 
alone. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  the  train  boy  replied,  "  but 
I  '11  give  you  a  book  you  can  read  with  your  eyes 
shut.  Guess  you  have  n't  taken  this  line  lately," 
he  added,  as  I  looked  up  offended  at  what  seemed 
impertinence.  "  We  've  been  furnishing  the  new- 
fashioned  phonographed  books  and  magazines  on 
this  train  for  six  months  now,  and  passengers  have 
got  so  they  won't  have  anything  else." 

Probably  this  piece  of  information  ought  to 
have  astonished  me  more  than  it  did,  but  I  had 
read  enough  about  the  wonders  of  the  phonograph 
to  be  prepared  in  a  vague  sort  of  way  for  almost 
anything  which  might  be  related  of  it,  and  for  the 
rest,  after  the  air-brakes,  the  steam  heat,  the  elec 
tric  lights  and  annunciators,  the  vestibuled  cars, 
and  other  delightful  novelties  I  had  just  been  ad 
miring,  almost  anything  seemed  likely  in  the  way 
of  railway  conveniences.  Accordingly,  when  the 
boy  proceeded  to  rattle  off  a  list  of  the  latest 
novels,  I  stopped  him  with  the  name  of  one  which 
I  had  heard  favorable  mention  of,  and  told  him  1 
would  try  that. 

He  was  good  enough  to  commend  my  choice. 
"  That 's  a  good  one,"  he  said.  "  It 's  all  the  rage. 
Half  the  train's  on  it  this  trip.  Where '11  you 
begin?" 

"Where?  Why,  at  the  beginning.  Where 
else?"  I  replied. 


WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT  337 

"  All  right.  Did  n't  know  but  you  might  have 
partly  read  it.  Put  you  on  at  any  chapter  or 
page,  you  know.  Put  you  on  at  first  chapter  with 
next  batch  in  five  minutes,  soon  as  the  batch  that 's 
on  now  gets  through." 

He  unlocked  a  little  box  at  the  side  of  my  seat, 
collected  the  price  of  three  hours'  reading  at  five 
cents  an  hour,  and  went  on  down  the  aisle.  Pre 
sently  I  heard  the  tinkle  of  a  bell  from  the  box 
which  he  had  unlocked.  Following  the  example 
of  others  around  me,  I  took  from  it  a  sort  of  two- 
pronged  fork  with  the  tines  spread  in  the  simili 
tude  of  a  chicken's  wishbone.  This  contrivance, 
which  was  attached  to  the  side  of  the  car  by  a 
cord,  I  proceeded  to  apply  to  my  ears,  as  I  saw  the 
others  doing. 

For  the  next  three  hours  I  scarcely  altered  my 
position,  so  completely  was  I  enthralled  by  my 
novel  experience.  Few  persons  can  fail  to  have 
made  the  observation  that  if  the  tones  of  the 
human  voice  did  not  have  a  charm  for  us  in  them 
selves  apart  from  the  ideas  they  convey,  conversa 
tion  to  a  great  extent  would  soon  be  given  up,  so 
little  is  the  real  intellectual  interest  of  the  topics 
with  which  it  is  chiefly  concerned.  When,  then, 
the  sympathetic  influence  of  the  voice  is  lent  to 
the  enhancement  of  matter  of  high  intrinsic  inter 
est,  it  is  not  strange  that  the  attention  should  be 
enchained.  A  good  story  is  highly  entertaining 
even  when  we  have  to  get  at  it  by  the  roundabout 


338  WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT 

means  of  spelling  out  the  signs  that  stand  for  the 
words,  and  imagining  them  uttered,  and  then  ima 
gining  what  they  would  mean  if  uttered.  What, 
then,  shall  be  said  of  the  delight  of  sitting  at  one's 
ease,  with  closed  eyes,  listening  to  the  same  story 
poured  into  one's  ears  in  the  strong,  sweet,  musical 
tones  of  a  perfect  mistress  of  the  art  of  story-tell 
ing,  and  of  the  expression  and  excitation  by  means 
of  the  voice  of  every  emotion  ? 

When,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  story,  the  train 
boy  came  to  lock  up  the  box,  I  could  not  refrain 
from  expressing  my  satisfaction  in  strong  terms. 
In  reply  he  volunteered  the  information  that  next 
month  the  cars  for  day  trips  on  that  line  would  be 
further  fitted  up  with  phonographic  guide-books 
of  the  country  the  train  passed  through,  so  con 
nected  by  clock-work  with  the  running  gear  of  the 
cars  that  the  guide-book  would  call  attention  to 
every  object  in  the  landscape,  and  furnish  the 
pertinent  information  —  statistical,  topographical, 
biographical,  historical,  romantic,  or  legendary,  as 
it  might  be  —  just  at  the  time  the  train  had 
reached  the  most  favorable  point  of  view.  It  was 
believed  that  this  arrangement  (for  which,  as  it 
would  work  automatically  and  require  little  at 
tendance,  being  used  or  not,  according  to  pleasure, 
by  the  passenger,  there  would  be  no  charge)  would 
do  much  to  attract  travel  to  the  road.  His  expla 
nation  was  interrupted  by  the  announcement  in 
loud,  clear,  and  deliberate  tones,  which  no  one 


WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT  339 

could  have  had  any  excuse  for  misunderstanding, 
that  the  train  was  now  approaching  the  city  of  my 
destination.  As  I  looked  around  in  amazement  to 
discover  what  manner  of  brakeman  this  might  be 
whom  I  had  understood,  the  train  boy  said,  with 
a  grin,  "  That 's  our  new  phonographic  annunci 
ator." 

Hamage  had  written  me  that  he  would  be  at  the 
station,  but  something  had  evidently  prevented 
him  from  keeping  the  appointment,  and  as  it  was 
late,  I  went  at  once  to  a  hotel  and  to  bed.  I  was 
tired  and  slept  heavily ;  once  or  twice  I  woke  up, 
after  dreaming  there  were  people  in  my  room  talk 
ing  to  me,  but  quickly  dropped  off  to  sleep  again. 
Finally  I  awoke,  and  did  not  so  soon  fall  asleep. 
Presently  I  found  myself  sitting  up  in  bed  with 
half  a  dozen  extraordinary  sensations  contending 
for  right  of  way  along  my  backbone.  What  had 
startled  me  was  the  voice  of  a  young  woman,  who 
could  not  have  been  standing  more  than  ten  feet 
from  my  bed.  If  the  tones  of  her  voice  were  any 
guide,  she  was  not  only  a  young  woman,  but  a 
very  charming  one. 

"My  dear  sir,"  she  had  said,  "you  may  possi 
bly  be  interested  in  knowing  that  it  now  wants 
just  a  quarter  of  three." 

For  a  few  moments  I  thought  —  well,  I  will  not 
undertake  the  impossible  task  of  telling  what  ex 
traordinary  conjectures  occurred  to  me  by  way  of 
accounting  for  the  presence  of  this  young  woman 


340  WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT 

in  my  room  before  the  true  explanation  of  the 
matter  occurred  to  me.  For,  of  course,  when  my 
experience  that  afternoon  on  the  train  flashed 
through  my  mind,  I  guessed  at  once  that  the  solu 
tion  of  the  mystery  was  in  all  probability  merely 
a  phonographic  device  for  announcing  the  hour. 
Nevertheless,  so  thrilling  and  lifelike  in  effect 
were  the  tones  of  the  voice  I  had  heard  that  I  con 
fess  I  had  not  the  nerve  to  light  the  gas  to  investi 
gate  till  I  had  indued  my  more  essential  garments. 
Of  course  I  found  no  lady  in  the  room,  but  only  a 
clock.  I  had  not  particularly  noticed  it  on  going 
to  bed,  because  it  looked  like  any  other  clock,  and 
so  now  it  continued  to  behave  until  the  hands 
pointed  to  three.  Then,  instead  of  leaving  me  to 
infer  the  time  from  the  arbitrary  symbolism  of 
three  strokes  on  a  bell,  the  same  voice  which  had 
before  electrified  me  informed  me,  in  tones  which 
would  have  lent  a  charm  to  the  driest  of  statistical 
details,  what  the  hour  was.  I  had  never  before 
been  impressed  with  any  particular  interest  attach 
ing  to  the  hour  of  three  in  the  morning,  but  as  I 
heard  it  announced  in  those  low,  rich,  thrilling 
contralto  tones,  it  appeared  fairly  to  coruscate  with 
previously  latent  suggestions  of  romance  and  poe 
try,  which,  if  somewhat  vague,  were  very  pleasing. 
Turning  out  the  gas  that  I  might  the  more  easily 
imagine  the  bewitching  presence  which  the  voice 
suggested,  I  went  back  to  bed,  and  lay  awake 
there  until  morning,  enjoying  the  society  of  my 


WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT  341 

bodiless  companion  and  the  delicious  shock  of  her 
quarter-hourly  remarks.  To  make  the  illusion 
more  complete  and  the  more  unsuggestive  of  the 
mechanical  explanation  which  I  knew  of  course  was 
the  real  one,  the  phrase  in  which  the  announce 
ment  of  the  hour  was  made  was  never  twice  the 
same. 

Right  was  Solomon  when  he  said  that  there 
was  nothing  new  under  the  sun.  Sardanapalus 
or  Semiramis  herself  would  not  have  been  at  all 
startled  to  hear  a  human  voice  proclaim  the  hour. 
The  phonographic  clock  had  but  replaced  the 
slave  whose  business,  standing  by  the  noiseless 
water-clock,  it  was  to  keep  tale  of  the  moments  as 
they  dropped,  ages  before  they  had  been  taught  to 
tick. 

In  the  morning,  on  descending,  I  went  first  to 
the  clerk's  office  to  inquire  for  letters,  thinking 
Hamage,  who  knew  I  would  go  to  that  hotel  if 
any,  might  have  addressed  me  there.  The  clerk 
handed  me  a  small  oblong  box.  I  suppose  I  stared 
at  it  in  a  rather  helpless  way,  for  presently  he 
said  :  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  see  you  are  a 
stranger.  If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  show  you 
how  to  read  your  letter." 

I  gave  him  the  box,  from  which  he  took  a  device 
of  spindles  and  cylinders,  and  placed  it  deftly 
within  another  small  box  which  stood  on  the  desk. 
Attached  to  this  was  one  of  the  two-pronged  ear- 
trumpets  I  already  knew  the  use  of.  As  I  placed 


342  WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT 

it  in  position,  the  clerk  touched  a  spring  in  the 
box,  which  set  some  sort  of  motor  going,  and  at 
once  the  familiar  tones  of  Dick  Hamage's  voice 
expressed  his  regret  that  an  accident  had  pre 
vented  his  meeting  me  the  night  before,  and  in 
formed  me  that  he  would  be  at  the  hotel  by  the 
time  I  had  breakfasted. 

The  letter  ended,  the  obliging  clerk  removed 
the  cylinders  from  the  box  on  the  desk,  replaced 
them  in  that  they  had  come  in,  and  returned  it 
to  me. 

"  Is  n't  it  rather  tantalizing,"  said  I,  "  to  receive 
one  of  these  letters  when  there  is  no  little  machine 
like  this  at  hand  to  make  it  speak? " 

"  It  does  n't  often  happen,"  replied  the  clerk, 
"  that  anybody  is  caught  without  his  indispensable, 
or  at  least  where  he  cannot  borrow  one." 

"  His  indispensable  I  "  I  exclaimed.  "  What 
may  that  be  ?  " 

In  reply  the  clerk  directed  my  attention  to  a 
little  box,  not  wholly  unlike  a  case  for  a  binocular 
glass,  which,  now  that  he  spoke  of  it,  I  saw  was 
carried,  slung  at  the  side,  by  every  person  in 
sight. 

"  We  call  it  the  indispensable  because  it  is  indis 
pensable,  as,  no  doubt,  you  will  soon  find  for  your 
self." 

In  the  breakfast-room  a  number  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen  were  engaged  as  they  sat  at  table  in 
reading,  or  rather  in  listening  to,  their  morning's 


WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT  343 

correspondence.  A  greater  or  smaller  pile  of  little 
boxes  lay  beside  their  plates,  and  one  after  another 
they  took  from  each  its  cylinders,  placed  them  in 
their  indispensables,  and  held  the  latter  to  their 
ears.  The  expression  of  the  face  in  reading  is  so 
largely  affected  by  the  necessary  fixity  of  the  eyes 
that  intelligence  is  absorbed  from  the  printed  or 
written  page  with  scarcely  a  change  of  counte 
nance,  which  when  communicated  by  the  voice 
evokes  a  responsive  play  of  features.  I  had  never 
been  struck  so  forcibly  by  this  obvious  reflection 
as  I  was  in  observing  the  expression  of  the  faces 
of  these  people  as  they  listened  to  their  correspond 
ents.  Disappointment,  pleased  surprise,  chagrin, 
disgust,  indignation,  and  amusement  were  alter 
nately  so  legible  on  their  faces  that  it  was  perfectly 
easy  for  one  to  be  sure  in  most  cases  what  the 
tenor  at  least  of  the  letter  was.  It  occurred  to  me 
that  while  in  the  old  time  the  pleasure  of  receiv 
ing  letters  had  been  so  far  balanced  by  this  drudg 
ery  of  writing  them  as  to  keep  correspondence 
within  some  bounds,  nothing  less  than  freight 
trains  could  suffice  for  the  mail  service  in  these 
days,  when  to  write  was  but  to  speak,  and  to  listen 
was  to  read. 

After  I  had  given  my  order,  the  waiter  brought 
a  curious-looking  oblong  case,  with  an  ear-trumpet 
attached,  and,  placing  it  before  me,  went  away.  I 
foresaw  that  I  should  have  to  ask  a  good  many 
questions  before  I  got  through,  and,  if  I  did  not 


344  WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT 

mean  to  be  a  bore,  I  had  best  ask  as  few  as  neces 
sary.  I  determined  to  find  out  what  this  trap  was 
without  assistance.  The  words  "  Daily  Morning 
Herald  "  sufficiently  indicated  that  it  was  a  news 
paper.  I  suspected  that  a  certain  big  knob,  if 
pushed,  would  set  it  going.  But,  for  all  I  knew, 
it  might  start  in  the  middle  of  the  advertisements. 
I  looked  closer.  There  were  a  number  of  printed 
slips  upon  the  face  of  the  machine,  arranged  about 
a  circle  like  the  numbers  on  a  dial.  They  were 
evidently  the  headings  of  news  articles.  In  the 
middle  of  the  circle  was  a  little  pointer,  like  the 
hand  of  a  clock,  moving  on  a  pivot.  I  pushed  this 
pointer  around  to  a  certain  caption,  and  then,  with 
the  air  of  being  perfectly  familiar  with  the  ma 
chine,  I  put  the  pronged  trumpet  to  my  ears  and 
pressed  the  big  knob.  Precisely !  It  worked  like 
a  charm  ;  so  much  like  a  charm,  indeed,  that  I 
should  certainly  have  allowed  my  breakfast  to  cool 
had  I  been  obliged  to  choose  between  that  and  my 
newspaper.  The  inventor  of  the  apparatus  had, 
however,  provided  against  so  painful  a  dilemma  by 
a  simple  attachment  to  the  trumpet,  which  held  it 
securely  in  position  upon  the  shoulders  behind  the 
head,  while  the  hands  were  left  free  for  knife  and 
fork.  Having  slyly  noted  the  manner  in  which 
my  neighbors  had  effected  the  adjustments,  I  imi 
tated  their  example  with  a  careless  air,  and  pre 
sently,  like  them,  was  absorbing  physical  and  men 
tal  aliment  simultaneously. 


WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT  345 

While  I  was  thus  delightfully  engaged,  I  was  not 
less  delightfully  interrupted  by  Hamage,  who,  hav 
ing  arrived  at  the  hotel,  and  learned  that  I  was  in 
the  breakfast-room,  came  in  and  sat  down  beside 
me.  After  telling  him  how  much  I  admired  the 
new  sort  of  newspapers,  I  offered  one  criticism, 
which  was  that  there  seemed  to  be  no  way  by  which 
one  could  skip  dull  paragraphs  or  uninteresting 
details. 

"  The  invention  would,  indeed,  be  very  far  from 
a  success,"  he  said,  "  if  there  were  no  such  provi 
sion,  but  there  is." 

He  made  me  put  on  the  trumpet  again,  and,  hav 
ing  set  the  machine  going,  told  me  to  press  on  a 
certain  knob,  at  first  gently,  afterward  as  hard  as 
I  pleased.  I  did  so,  and  found  that  the  effect  of 
the  "  skipper,"  as  he  called  the  knob,  was  to  quicken 
the  utterance  of  the  phonograph  in  proportion  to 
the  pressure  to  at  least  tenfold  the  usual  rate  of 
speed,  while  at  any  moment,  if  a  word  of  interest 
caught  the  ear,  the  ordinary  rate  of  delivery  was 
resumed,  and  by  another  adjustment  the  machine 
could  be  made  to  go  back  and  repeat  as  much  as 
desired. 

When  I  told  Hamage  of  my  experience  of  the 
night  before  with  the  talking  clock  in  my  room,  he 
laughed  uproariously. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  mentioned  this  just  now," 
he  said,  when  he  had  quieted  himself.  "  We  have 
a  couple  of  hours  before  the  train  goes  out  to  my 


346  WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT 

place,  and  I  '11  take  you  through  Orton's  establish 
ment,  where  they  make  a  specialty  of  these  talking 
clocks.  I  have  a  number  of  them  in  my  house,  and, 
as  I  don't  want  to  have  you  scared  to  death  in  the 
night-watches,  you  had  better  get  some  notion  of 
what  clocks  nowadays  are  expected  to  do." 

Orton's,  where  we  found  ourselves  half  an  hour 
later,  proved  to  be  a  very  extensive  establishment, 
the  firm  making  a  specialty  of  horological  novelties, 
and  particularly  of  the  new  phonographic  time 
pieces.  The  manager,  who  was  a  personal  friend 
of  Hamage's,  and  proved  very  obliging,  said  that 
the  latter  were  fast  driving  the  old-fashioned  strik 
ing  clocks  out  of  use. 

"  And  no  wonder,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  the  old-fash 
ioned  striker  was  an  unmitigated  nuisance.  Let 
alone  the  brutality  of  announcing  the  hour  to  a  re 
fined  household  by  four,  eight,  or  ten  rude  bangs, 
without  introduction  or  apology,  this  method  of 
announcement  was  not  even  tolerably  intelligible. 
Unless  you  happened  to  be  attentive  at  the  moment 
the  din  began,  you  could  never  be  sure  of  your  count 
of  strokes  so  as  to  be  positive  whether  it  was  eight, 
nine,  ten,  or  eleven.  As  to  the  half  and  quarter 
strokes,  they  were  wholly  useless  unless  you  chanced 
to  know  what  was  the  last  hour  struck.  And  then, 
too,  I  should  like  to  ask  you  why,  in  the  name  of 
common  sense,  it  should  take  twelve  times  as  long 
to  tell  you  it  is  twelve  o'clock  as  it  does  to  tell  you 
it  is  one." 


WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT  347 

The  manager  laughed  as  heartily  as  Hamage  had 
done  on  learning  of  my  scare  of  the  night  before. 

"  It  was  lucky  for  you,"  he  said,  "  that  the  clock 
in  your  room  happened  to  be  a  simple  time  an 
nouncer,  otherwise  you  might  easily  have  been 
startled  half  out  of  your  wits."  I  became  myself 
quite  of  the  same  opinion  by  the  time  he  had  shown 
us  something  of  his  assortment  of  clocks.  The 
mere  announcing  of  the  hours  and  quarters  of  hours 
was  the  simplest  of  the  functions  of  these  wonder 
ful  and  yet  simple  instruments.  There  were  few 
of  them  which  were  not  arranged  to  "  improve  the 
time,"  as  the  old-fashioned  prayer-meeting  phrase 
was.  People's  ideas  differing  widely  as  to  what 
constitutes  improvement  of  time,  the  clocks  varied 
accordingly  in  the  nature  of  the  edification  they 
provided.  There  were  religious  and  sectarian 
clocks,  moral  clocks,  philosophical  clocks,  free- 
thinking  and  infidel  clocks,  literary  and  poetical 
clocks,  educational  clocks,  frivolous  and  bacchana 
lian  clocks.  In  the  religious  clock  department 
were  totbe  found  Catholic,  Presbyterian,  Metho 
dist,  Episcopal,  and  Baptist  time-pieces,  which,  in 
connection  with  the  announcement  of  the  hour  and 
quarter,  repeated  some  tenet  of  the  sect  with  a  proof 
text.  There  were  also  Talrnage  clocks,  and  Spur- 
geon  clocks,  and  Storrs  clocks,  and  Brooks  clocks 
which  respectively  marked  the  flight  of  time  by 
phrases  taken  from  the  sermons  of  these  eminent 
divines,  and  repeated  in  precisely  the  voice  and 


348  WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT 

accents  of  the  original  delivery.  In  startling  prox 
imity  to  the  religious  department  I  was  shown  the 
skeptical  clocks.  So  near  were  they,  indeed,  that 
when,  as  I  stood  there,  the  various  time-pieces  an 
nounced  the  hour  of  ten,  the  war  of  opinions  that 
followed  was  calculated  to  unsettle  the  firmest  con 
victions.  The  observations  of  an  Ingersoll  which 
stood  near  me  were  particularly  startling.  The 
effect  of  an  actual  wrangle  was  the  greater  from 
the  fact  that  all  these  individual  clocks  were  sur 
mounted  by  effigies  of  the  authors  of  the  sentiments 
they  repeated. 

I  was  glad  to  escape  from  this  turmoil  to  the 
calmer  atmosphere  of  the  philosophical  and  literary 
clock  department.  For  persons  with  a  taste  for 
antique  moralizing,  the  sayings  of  Plato,  Epictetus, 
and  Marcus  Aurelius  had  here,  so  to  speak,  been 
set  to  time.  Modern  wisdom  was  represented  by  a 
row  of  clocks  surmounted  by  the  heads  of  famous 
maxim-makers,  from  Rochefoucauld  to  Josh  Bil 
lings.  As  for  the  literary  clocks,  their  number 
and  variety  were  endless.  All  the  greati  authors 
were  represented.  Of  the  Dickens  clocks  alone 
there  were  half  a  dozen,  with  selections  from  his 
greatest  stories.  When  I  suggested  that,  captivat 
ing  as  such  clocks  must  be,  one  might  in  time  grow 
weary  of  hearing  the  same  sentiments  reiterated, 
the  manager  pointed  out  that  the  phonographic 
cylinders  were  removable,  and  could  be  replaced  by 
other  sayings  by  the  same  author  or  on  the  same 


WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT  349 

theme  at  any  time.  If  one  tired  of  an  author  alto 
gether,  he  could  have  the  head  unscrewed  from  the 
top  of  the  clock  and  that  of  some  other  celebrity 
substituted,  with  a  brand-new  repertory. 

"I  can  imagine,"  I  said,  "that  these  talking 
clocks  must  be  a  great  resource  for  invalids  espe 
cially,  and  for  those  who  cannot  sleep  at  night. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  how  is  it  when  people  want 
or  need  to  sleep?  Is  not  one  of  them  quite  too 
interesting  a  companion  at  such  a  time  ?  " 

"Those  who  are  used  to  it,"  replied  the  manager, 
"  are  no  more  disturbed  by  the  talking  clock  than 
we  used  to  be  by  the  striking  clock.  However,  to 
avoid  all  possible  inconvenience  to  invalids,  this 
little  lever  is  provided,  which  at  a  touch  will  throw 
the  phonograph  out  of  gear  or  back  again.  It  is 
customary  when  we  put  a  talking  or  singing  clock 
into  a  bedroom  to  put  in  an  electric  connection,  so 
that  by  pressing  a  button  at  the  head  of  the  bed  a 
person,  without  raising  the  head  from  the  pillow, 
can  start  or  stop  the  phonographic  gear,  as  well 
as  ascertain  the  time,  on  the  repeater  principle  as 
applied  to  watches." 

Hamage  now  said  that  we  had  only  time  to  catch 
the  train,  but  our  conductor  insisted  that  we  should 
stop  to  see  a  novelty  of  phonographic  invention, 
which,  although  not  exactly  in  their  line,  had  been 
sent  them  for  exhibition  by  the  inventor.  It  was  a 
device  for  meeting  the  criticism  frequently  made 
upon  the  churches  of  a  lack  of  attention  and  cor- 


350  WITH   THE  EYES   SHUT 

diality  in  welcoming  strangers.  It  was  to  be  placed 
in  the  lobby  of  the  church,  and  had  an  arm  extend 
ing  like  a  pump-handle.  Any  stranger  on  taking 
this  and  moving  it  up  and  down  would  be  welcomed 
in  the  pastor's  own  voice,  and  continue  to  be  wel 
comed  as  long  as  he  kept  up  the  motion.  While 
this  welcome  would  be  limited  to  general  remarks 
of  regard  and  esteem,  ample  provision  was  made 
for  strangers  who  desired  to  be  more  particularly 
inquired  into.  A  number  of  small  buttons  on  the 
front  of  the  contrivance  bore  respectively  the  words, 
"  Male,"  "  Female,"  "  Married,"  "  Unmarried," 
"  Widow,"  "  Children,"  "  No  Children,"  etc.,  etc. 
By  pressing  the  one  of  these  buttons  correspond 
ing  to  his  or  her  condition,  the  stranger  would  be 
addressed  in  terms  probably  quite  as  accurately 
adapted  to  his  or  her  condition  and  needs  as  would 
be  any  inquiries  a  preoccupied  clergyman  would 
be  likely  to  make  under  similar  circumstances.  I 
could  readily  see  the  necessity  of  some  such  substi 
tute  for  the  pastor,  when  I  was  informed  that  every 
prominent  clergyman  was  now  in  the  habit  of  sup 
plying  at  least  a  dozen  or  two  pulpits  simultane 
ously,  appearing  by  turns  in  one  of  them  personally, 
and  by  phonograph  in  the  others. 

The  inventor  of  the  contrivance  for  welcoming 
strangers  was,  it  appeared,  applying  the  same  idea 
to  machines  for  discharging  many  other  of  the 
more  perfunctory  obligations  of  social  intercourse. 
One  being  made  for  the  convenience  of  the  Presi- 


WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT  351 

dent  of  the  United  States  at  public  receptions  was 
provided  with  forty-two  buttons  for  the  different 
States,  and  others  for  the  principal  cities  of  the 
Union,  so  that  a  caller,  by  proper  manipulation, 
might,  while  shaking  a  handle,  be  addressed  in 
regard  to  his  home  interests  with  an  exactness  of 
information  as  remarkable  as  that  of  the  traveling 
statesmen  who  rise  from  the  gazetteer  to  astonish 
the  inhabitants  of  Wayback  Crossing  with  the 
precise  figures  of  their  town  valuation  and  birth 
rate,  while  the  engine  is  taking  in  water. 

We  had  by  this  time  spent  so  much  time  that 
on  finally  starting  for  the  railroad  station  we  had 
to  walk  quite  briskly.  As  we  were  hurrying  along 
the  street,  my  attention  was  arrested  by  a  musical 
sound,  distinct  though  not  loud,  proceeding  appar 
ently  from  the  indispensable  which  Hamage,  like 
everybody  else  I  had  seen,  wore  at  his  side.  Stop 
ping  abruptly,  he  stepped  aside  from  the  throng, 
and,  lifting  the  indispensable  quickly  to  his  ear, 
touched  something,  and  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  yes,  to 
be  sure !  "  dropped  the  instrument  to  his  side. 

Then  he  said  to  me  :  "I  am  reminded  that  I 
promised  my  wife  to  bring  home  some  story-books 
for  the  children  when  I  was  in  town  to-day.  The 
store  is  only  a  few  steps  down  the  street.''  As 
we  went  along,  he  explained  to  me  that  nobody 
any  longer  pretended  to  charge  his  mind  with  the 
recollection  of  duties  or  engagements  of  any  sort. 
Everybody  depended  upon  his  indispensable  to 


352  WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT 

remind  him  in  time  of  all  undertakings  and  re 
sponsibilities.  This  service  it  was  able  to  render 
by  virtue  of  a  simple  enough  adjustment  of  a 
phonographic  cylinder  charged  with  the  necessary 
word  or  phrase  to  the  clockwork  in  the  indispen 
sable,  so  that  at  any  time  fixed  upon  in  setting  the 
arrangement  an  alarm  would  sound,  and,  the  indis 
pensable  being  raised  to  the  ear,  the  phonograph 
would  deliver  its  message,  which  at  any  subsequent 
time  might  be  called  up  and  repeated.  To  all 
persons  charged  with  weighty  responsibilities  de 
pending  upon  accuracy  of  memory  for  their  correct 
discharge,  this  feature  of  the  indispensable  ren 
dered  it,  according  to  Hamage,  and  indeed  quite 
obviously,  an  indispensable  truly.  To  the  rail 
road  engineer  it  served  the  purpose  not  only  of 
a  time-piece,  for  the  works  of  the  indispensable 
include  a  watch,  but  to  its  ever  vigilant  alarm  he 
could  intrust  his  running  orders,  and,  while  his 
mind  was  wholly  concentrated  upon  present  duties, 
rest  secure  that  he  would  be  reminded  at  just  the 
proper  time  of  trains  which  he  must  avoid  and 
switches  he  must  make.  To  the  indispensable  of 
the  business  man  the  reminder  attachment  was  not 
less  necessary.  Provided  with  that,  his  notes  need 
never  go  to  protest  through  carelessness,  nor,  how 
ever  absorbed,  was  he  in  danger  of  forgetting  an 
appointment. 

Thanks  to  these  portable  memories  it  was,  more 
over,  now  possible   for  a  wife  to  intrust    to  her 


WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT  353 

husband  the  most  complex  messages  to  the  dress 
maker.  All  she  had  to  do  was  to  whisper  the 
communication  into  her  husband's  indispensable 
while  he  was  at  breakfast,  and  set  the  alarm  at  an 
hour  when  he  would  be  in  the  city. 

"  And  in  like  manner,  I  suppose,"  suggested  I, 
"  if  she  wishes  him  to  return  at  a  certain  hour 
from  the  club  or  the  lodge,  she  can  depend  on  his 
indispensable  to  remind  him  of  his  domestic  duties 
at  the  proper  moment,  and  in  terms  and  tones 
which  will  make  the  total  repudiation  of  connubial 
allegiance  the  only  alternative  of  obedience.  It  is 
a  very  clever  invention,  and  I  don't  wonder  that  it 
is  popular  with  the  ladies ;  but  does  it  not  occur 
to  you  that  the  inventor,  if  a  man,  was  slightly 
inconsiderate  ?  The  rule  of  the  American  wife 
has  hitherto  been  a  despotism  which  could  be  tem 
pered  by  a  bad  memory.  Apparently,  it  is  to  be 
no  longer  tempered  at  all." 

Hamage  laughed,  but  his  mirth  was  evidently  a 
little  forced,  and  I  inferred  that  the  reflection 
I  had  suggested  had  called  up  certain  reminis 
cences  not  wholly  exhilarating.  Being  fortunate, 
however,  in  the  possession  of  a  mercurial  tempera 
ment,  he  presently  rallied,  and  continued  his  praises 
of  the  artificial  memory  provided  by  the  indispen 
sable.  In  spite  of  the  criticism  which  I  had  made 
upon  it,  I  confess  I  was  not  a  little  moved  by  his 
description  of  its  advantages  to  absent-minded  men, 
of  whom  I  am  chief.  Think  of  the  gain  alike  in 


354  WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT 

serenity  and  force  of  intellect  enjoyed  by  the  man 
who  sits  down  to  work  absolutely  free  from  that 
accursed  cloud  on  the  mind  of  things  he  has  got  to 
remember  to  do,  and  can  only  avoid  totally  forget 
ting  by  wasting  tenfold  the  time  required  finally 
to  do  them  in  making  sure  by  frequent  rehearsals 
that  he  has  not  forgotten  them !  The  only  way 
that  one  of  these  trivialities  ever  sticks  to  the 
mind  is  by  wearing  a  sore  spot  in  it  which  heals 
slowly.  If  a  man  does  not  forget  it,  it  is  for  the 
same  reason  that  he  remembers  a  grain  of  sand  in 
his  eye.  I  am  conscious  that  my  own  mind  is  full 
of  cicatrices  of  remembered  things,  and  long  ere 
this  it  would  have  been  peppered  with  them  like  a 
colander,  had  I  not  a  good  while  ago,  in  self-de 
fense,  absolutely  refused  to  be  held  accountable  for 
forgetting  anything  not  connected  with  my  regular 
business. 

While  firmly  believing  my  course  in  this  matter 
to  have  been  justifiable  and  necessary,  I  have  not 
been  insensible  to  the  domestic  odium  which  it  has 
brought  upon  me,  and  could  but  welcome  a  device 
which  promised  to  enable  me  to  regain  the  esteem 
of  my  family  while  retaining  the  use  of  my  mind 
for  professional  purposes. 

As  the  most  convenient  conceivable  receptacle 
of  hasty  memoranda  of  ideas  and  suggestions,  the 
indispensable  also  most  strongly  commended  itself 
to  me  as  a  man  who  lives  by  writing.  How  con 
venient  when  a  flash  of  inspiration  comes  to  one 


WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT  355 

in  the  night-time,  instead  of  taking  cold  and  wak 
ing  the  family  in  order  to  save  it  for  posterity, 
just  to  whisper  it  into  the  ear  of  an  indispensable 
at  one's  bedside,  and  be  able  to  know  it  in  the 
morning  for  the  rubbish  such  untimely  concep 
tions  usually  are !  How  often,  likewise,  would 
such  a  machine  save  in  all  their  first  vividness 
suggestive  fancies,  anticipated  details,  and  other 
notions  worth  preserving,  which  occur  to  one  in 
the  full  flow  of  composition,  but  are  irrelevant  to 
what  is  at  the  moment  in  hand !  I  determined 
that  I  must  have  an  indispensable. 

The  bookstore,  when  we  arrived  there,  proved 
to  be  the  most  extraordinary  sort  of  bookstore  I 
had  ever  entered,  there  not  being  a  book  in  it. 
Instead  of  books,  the  shelves  and  counters  were 
occupied  with  rows  of  small  boxes. 

"  Almost  all  books  now,  you  see,  are  phono- 
graphed,"  said  Hamage. 

"  The  change  seems  to  be  a  popular  one,"  I  said, 
"  to  judge  by  the  crowd  of  book-buyers."  For  the 
counters  were,  indeed,  thronged  with  customers  as 
I  had  never  seen  those  of  a  bookstore  before. 

"  The  people  at  those  counters  are  not  purchas 
ers,  but  borrowers,"  Hamage  replied ;  and  then  he 
explained  that  whereas  the  old-fashioned  printed 
book,  being  handled  by  the  reader,  was  damaged 
by  use,  and  therefore  had  either  to  be  purchased 
outright  or  borrowed  at  high  rates  of  hire,  the 
phonograph  of  a  book  being  not  handled,  but 


356  WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT 

merely  revolved  in  a  machine,  was  but  little  in 
jured  by  use,  and  therefore  phonographed  books 
could  be  lent  out  for  an  infinitesimal  price.  Every 
body  had  at  home  a  phonograph  box  of  standard 
size  and  adjustments,  to  which  all  phonographic 
cylinders  were  gauged.  I  suggested  that  the 
phonograph,  at  any  rate,  could  scarcely  have  re 
placed  picture-books.  But  here,  it  seemed,  I  was 
mistaken,  for  it  appeared  that  illustrations  were 
adapted  to  phonographed  books  by  the  simple  plan 
of  arranging  them  in  a  continuous  panorama, 
which  by  a  connecting  gear  was  made  to  unroll 
behind  the  glass  front  of  the  phonograph  case  as 
the  course  of  the  narrative  demanded. 

"  But,  bless  my  soul !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  every 
body  surely  is  not  content  to  borrow  their  books  ? 
They  must  want  to  have  books  of  their  own,  to 
keep  in  their  libraries." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Hamage.  "  What  I  said 
about  borrowing  books  applies  only  to  current 
literature  of  the  ephemeral  sort.  Everybody  wants 
books  of  permanent  value  in  his  library.  Over 
yonder  is  the  department  of  the  establishment  set 
apart  for  book-buyers." 

The  counter  which  he  indicated  being  less 
crowded  than  those  of  the  borrowing  department, 
I  expressed  a  desire  to  examine  some  of  the  phono- 
graphed  books.  As  we  were  waiting  for  attend 
ance,  I  observed  that  some  of  the  customers 
seemed  very  particular  about  their  purchases,  and 


WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT  357 

insisted  upon  testing  several  phonographs  bearing 
the  same  title  before  making  a  selection.  As  the 
phonographs  seemed  exact  counterparts  in  appear 
ance,  I  did  not  understand  this  till  Hamage  ex 
plained  that  differences  as  to  style  and  quality  of 
elocution  left  quite  as  great  a  range  of  choice  in 
phonographed  books  as  varieties  in  type,  paper, 
and  binding  did  in  printed  ones.  This  I  presently 
found  to  be  the  case  when  the  clerk,  under  Ham- 
age's  direction,  began  waiting  on  me.  In  succes 
sion  I  tried  half  a  dozen  editions  of  Tennyson  by 
as  many  different  elocutionists,  and  by  the  time  I 
had  heard 

"  Where  Claribel  low  lieth  " 

rendered  by  a  soprano,  a  contralto,  a  bass,  and  a 
baritone,  each  with  the  full  effect  of  its  quality  and 
the  personal  equation  besides,  I  was  quite  ready  to 
admit  that  selecting  phonographed  books  for  one's 
library  was  as  much  more  difficult  as  it  was  incom 
parably  more  fascinating  than  suiting  one's  self 
with  printed  editions.  Indeed,  Hamage  admitted 
that  nowadays  nobody  with  any  taste  for  literature 
—  if  the  word  may  for  convenience  be  retained  — 
thought  of  contenting  himself  with  less  than  half  a 
dozen  renderings  of  the  great  poets  and  dramatists. 
"  By  the  way,"  he  said  to  the  clerk,  "  won't  you 
just  let  my  friend  try  the  Booth-Barrett  Company's 
4  Othello '  ?  It  is,  you  understand,"  he  added  to  me, 
"  the  exact  phonographic  reproduction  of  the  play 
as  actually  rendered  by  the  company." 


358  WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT 

Upon  his  suggestion,  the  attendant  had  taken 
down  a  phonograph  case  and  placed  it  on  the 
counter.  The  front  was  an  imitation  of  a  theatre 
with  the  curtain  down.  As  I  placed  the  transmit 
ter  to  my  ears,  the  clerk  touched  a  spring  and  the 
curtain  rolled  up,  displaying  a  perfect  picture  of 
the  stage  in  the  opening  scene.  Simultaneously 
the  action  of  the  play  began,  as  if  the  pictured 
men  upon  the  stage  were  talking.  Here  was  no 
question  of  losing  half  that  was  said  and  guessing 
the  rest.  Not  a  word,  not  a  syllable,  not  a  whis 
pered  aside  of  the  actors,  was  lost ;  and  as  the  play 
proceeded  the  pictures  changed,  showing  every 
important  change  of  attitude  on  the  part  of  the 
actors.  Of  course  the  figures,  being  pictures,  did 
not  move,  but  their  presentation  in  so  many  succes 
sive  attitudes  presented  the  effect  of  movement, 
and  made  it  quite  possible  to  imagine  that  the 
voices  in  my  ears  were  really  theirs.  I  am  exceed 
ingly  fond  of  the  drama,  but  the  amount  of  effort 
and  physical  inconvenience  necessary  to  witness  a 
play  has  rendered  my  indulgence  in  this  pleasure 
infrequent.  Others  might  not  have  agreed  with 
me,  but  I  confess  that  none  of  the  ingenious  appli 
cations  of  the  phonograph  which  I  had  seen  seemed 
to  be  so  well  worth  while  as  this. 

Hamage  had  left  me  to  make  his  purchases,  and 
found  me  on  his  return  still  sitting  spellbound. 

"  Come,    come,"    he    said,  laughing,    "  I    have 
Shakespeare  complete  at  home,  and  you  shall  sit 


WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT  359 

up  all  night,  if  you  choose,  hearing  plays.  But 
come  along  now,  I  want  to  take  you  upstairs  before 
we  go." 

He  had  several  bundles.  One,  he  told  me,  was 
a  new  novel  for  his  wife,  with  some  fairy  stories 
for  the  children,  —  all,  of  course,  phonographs. 
Besides,  he  had  bought  an  indispensable  for  his 
little  boy. 

"  There  is  no  class,"  he  said,  "  whose  burdens 
the  phonograph  has  done  so  much  to  lighten  as 
parents.  Mothers  no  longer  have  to  make  them 
selves  hoarse  telling  the  children  stories  on  rainy 
days  to  keep  them  out  of  mischief.  It  is  only  ne 
cessary  to  plant  the  most  roguish  lad  before  a  pho 
nograph  of  some  nursery  classic,  to  be  sure  of  his 
whereabouts  and  his  behavior  till  the  machine  runs 
down,  when  another  set  of  cylinders  can  be  intro 
duced,  and  the  entertainment  carried  on.  As  for 
the  babies,  Patti  sings  mine  to  sleep  at  bedtime, 
and,  if  they  wake  up  in  the  night,  she  is  never  too 
drowsy  to  do  it  over  again.  When  the  children 
grow  too  big  to  be  longer  tied  to  their  mother's 
apron-strings,  they  still  remain,  thanks  to  the  chil 
dren's  indispensable,  though  out  of  her  sight,  within 
sound  of  her  voice.  Whatever  charges  or  instruc 
tions  she  desires  them  not  to  forget,  whatever 
hours  or  duties  she  would  have  them  be  sure  to 
remember,  she  depends  on  the  indispensable  to 
remind  them  of." 

At  this  I  cried  out.    "  It  is  all  very  well  for  the 


360  WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT 

mothers,"  I  said,  "but  the  lot  of  the  orphan  must 
seem  enviable  to  a  boy  compelled  to  wear  about 
such  an  instrument  of  his  own  subjugation.  If 
boys  were  what  they  were  in  my  day,  the  rate  at 
which  their  indispensables  would  get  unaccounta 
bly  lost  or  broken  would  be  alarming." 

Hamage  laughed,  and  admitted  that  the  one  he 
was  carrying  home  was  the  fourth  he  had  bought 
for  his  boy  within  a  month.  He  agreed  with  me 
that  it  was  hard  to  see  how  a  boy  was  to  get  his 
growth  under  quite  so  much  government ;  but  his 
wife,  and  indeed  the  ladies  generally,  insisted  that 
the  application  of  the  phonograph  to  family  gov 
ernment  was  the  greatest  invention  of  the  age. 

Then  I  asked  a  question  which  had  repeatedly 
occurred  to  me  that  day,  —  What  had  become  of 
the  printers  ? 

"  Naturally,"  replied  Hamage,  "  they  have  had 
a  rather  hard  time  of  it.  Some  classes  of  books, 
however,  are  still  printed,  and  probably  will  con 
tinue  to  be  for  some  time,  although  reading,  as 
well  as  writing,  is  getting  to  be  an  increasingly 
rare  accomplishment." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  your  schools  do  not  teach 
reading  and  writing  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  are  still  taught ;  but  as  the  pupils 
need  them  little  after  leaving  school,  —  or  even  in 
school,  for  that  matter,  all  their  text-books  being 
phonographic,  —  they  usually  keep  the  acquire 
ments  about  as  long  as  a  college  graduate  does  his 


WITH   THE   EYES   SHUT  361 

Greek.  There  is  a  strong  movement  already  on 
foot  to  drop  reading  and  writing  entirely  from  the 
school  course,  but  probably  a  compromise  will  be 
made  for  the  present  by  substituting  a  shorthand 
or  phonetic  system,  based  upon  the  direct  interpre 
tation  of  the  sound-waves  themselves.  This  is,  of 
course,  the  only  logical  method  for  the  visual  inter 
pretation  of  sound.  Students  and  men  of  research, 
however,  will  always  need  to  understand  how  to 
read  print,  as  much  of  the  old  literature  will  prob 
ably  never  repay  phonographing." 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  I  notice  that  you  still  use 
printed  phrases,  as  superscriptions,  titles,  and  so 
forth." 

"  So  we  do,"  replied  Hamage, "  but  phonographic 
substitutes  could  be  easily  devised  in  these  cases, 
and  no  doubt  will  soon  have  to  be  supplied  in 
deference  to  the  growing  number  of  those  who 
cannot  read." 

"  Did  I  understand  you,"  I  asked,  "  that  the 
text-books  in  your  schools  even  are  phonographs  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Hamage ;  "  our  children 
are  taught  by  phonographs,  recite  to  phonographs, 
and  are  examined  by  phonographs." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  I  ejaculated. 

"  By  all  means,"  replied  Hamage ;  "  but  there 
is  really  nothing  to  be  astonished  at.  People  learn 
and  remember  by  impressions  of  sound  instead  of 
sight,  that  is  all.  The  printer  is,  by  the  way,  not 
the  only  artisan  whose  occupation  phonography  has 


362  WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT 

destroyed.  Since  the  disuse  of  print,  opticians  have 
mostly  gone  to  the  poor-house.  The  sense  of  sight 
was  indeed  terribly  overburdened  previous  to  the 
introduction  of  the  phonograph,  and,  now  that  the 
sense  of  hearing  is  beginning  to  assume  its  proper 
share  of  work,  it  would  be  strange  if  an  improve 
ment  in  the  condition  of  the  people's  eyes  were 
not  noticeable.  Physiologists,  moreover,  promise 
us  not  only  an  improved  vision,  but  a  generally 
improved  physique,  especially  in  respect  to  bodily 
carriage,  now  that  reading,  writing,  and  study  no 
longer  involves,  as  formerly,  the  sedentary  attitude 
with  twisted  spine  and  stooping  shoulders.  The 
phonograph  has  at  last  made  it  possible  to  expand 
the  mind  without  cramping  the  body." 

"  It  is  a  striking  comment  on  the  revolution 
wrought  by  the  general  introduction  of  the  phono 
graph,"  I  observed,  "  that  whereas  the  misfortune 
of  blindness  used  formerly  to  be  the  infirmity 
which  most  completely  cut  a  man  off  from  the 
world  of  books-  which  remained  open  to  the  deaf, 
the  case  is  now  precisely  reversed." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hamage,  "  it  is  certainly  a  curious 
reversal,  but  not  so  complete  as  you  fancy.  By 
the  new  improvements  in  the  intensifier,  it  is  ex 
pected  to  enable  all,  except  the  stone-deaf,  to  enjoy 
the  phonograph,  even  when  connected,  as  on  rail 
road  trains,  with  a  common  telephonic  wire.  The 
stone-deaf  will  of  course  be  dependent  upon  printed 
books  prepared  for  their  benefit,  as  raised-letter 
books  used  to  be  for  the  blind." 


WITH  THE  EYES  SHUT  363 

As  we  entered  the  elevator  to  ascend  to  the 
upper  floors  of  the  establishment,  Hamage  explained 
that  he  -wanted  me  to  see,  before  I  left,  the  process 
of  phonographing  books,  which  was  the  modern 
substitute  for  printing  them.  Of  course,  he  said, 
the  phonographs  of  dramatic  works  were  taken  at 
the  theatres  during  the  representations  of  plays, 
and  those  of  public  orations  and  sermons  are  either 
similarly  obtained,  or,  if  a  revised  version  is  de 
sired,  the  orator  re-delivers  his  address  in  the  im 
proved  form  to  a  phonograph ;  but  the  great  mass 
of  publications  were  phonographed  by  professional 
elocutionists  employed  by  the  large  publishing 
houses,  of  which  this  was  one.  He  was  acquainted 
with  one  of  these  elocutionists,  and  was  taking  me 
to  his  room. 

We  were  so  fortunate  as  to  find  him  disengaged. 
Something,  he  said,  had  broken  about  the  machin 
ery,  and  he  was  idle  while  it  was  being  repaired. 
His  work-room  was  an  odd  kind  of  place.  It  was 
shaped  something  like  the  interior  of  a  rather  short 
egg.  His  place  was  on  a  sort  of  pulpit  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  small  end,  while  at  the  opposite  end, 
directly  before  him,  and  for  some  distance  along 
the  sides  toward  the  middle,  were  arranged  tiers 
of  phonographs.  These  were  his  audience,  but  by 
no  means  all  of  it.  By  telephonic  communication 
he  was  able  to  address  simultaneously  other  con 
gregations  of  phonographs  in  other  chambers  at  any 
distance.  He  said  that  in  one  instance,  where  the 


364  WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT 

demand  for  a  popular  book  was  very  great,  he  had 
charged  five  thousand  phonographs  at  once  with  it. 

I  suggested  that  the  saving  of  printers,  pressmen, 
bookbinders,  and  costly  machinery,  together  with 
the  comparative  indestructibility  of  phonographed 
as  compared  with  printed  books,  must  make  them 
very  cheap. 

"  They  would  be,"  said  Hamage,  "  if  popular 
elocutionists,  such  as  Playwell  here,  did  not  charge 
so  like  fun  for  their  services.  The  public  has  taken 
it  into  its  head  that  he  is  the  only  first-class  elocu 
tionist,  and  won't  buy  anybody  else's  work.  Con 
sequently  the  authors  stipulate  that  he  shall  inter 
pret  their  productions,  and  the  publishers,  between 
the  public  and  the  authors,  are  at  his  mercy." 

Playwell  laughed.  "  I  must  make  my  hay  while 
the  sun  shines,"  he  said.  "  Some  other  elocution 
ist  will  be  the  fashion  next  year,  and  then  I  shall 
only  get  hack-work  to  do.  Besides,  there  is  really 
a  great  deal  more  work  in  my  business  than  people 
will  believe.  For  example,  after  I  get  an  author's 
copy  " 

"  Written  ?  "  I  interjected. 

"  Sometimes  it  is  written  phonetically,  but  most 
authors  dictate  to  a  phonograph.  Well,  when  I 
get  it,  I  take  it  home  and  study  it,  perhaps  a  couple 
of  days,  perhaps  a  couple  of  weeks,  sometimes,  if 
it  is  really  an  important  work,  a  month  or  two, 
in  order  to  get  into  sympathy  with  the  ideas,  and 
decide  on  the  proper  style  of  rendering.  All  this 
is  hard  work,  and  has  to  be  paid  for." 


WITH  THE  EYES   SHUT  365 

At  this  point  our  conversation  was  broken  off 
by  Hamage,  who  declared  that,  if  we  were  to  catch 
the  last  train  out  of  town  before  noon,  we  had  no 
time  to  lose. 

Of  the  trip  out  to  Hamage' s  place  I  recall  no 
thing.  I  was,  in  fact,  aroused  from  a  sound  nap  / 
by  the  stopping  of  the  train  and  the  bustle  of  the 
departing  passengers.  Hamage  had  disappeared. 
As  I  groped  about,  gathering  up  my  belongings, 
and  vaguely  wondering  what  had  become  of  my 
companion,  he  rushed  into  the  car,  and,  grasping 
my  hand,  gave  me  an  enthusiastic  welcome.  I 
opened  my  mouth  to  demand  what  sort  of  a  joke 
this  belated  greeting  might  be  intended  for,  but,  on 
second  thought,  I  concluded  not  to  raise  the  point. 
The  fact  is,  when  I  came  to  observe  that  the  time 
was  not  noon,  but  late  in  the  evening,  and  that  the 
train  was  the  one  I  had  left  home  on,  and  that 
I  had  not  even  changed  my  seat  in  the  car  since 
then,  it  occurred  to  me  that  Hamage  might  not 
understand  allusions  to  the  forenoon  we  had  spent 
together.  Later  that  same  evening,  however,  the 
consternation  of  my  host  and  hostess  at  my  frequent 
and  violent  explosions  of  apparently  causeless  hi 
larity  left  me  no  choice  but  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  my  preposterous  experience.  The  moral  they 
drew  from  it  was  the  charming  one  that,  if  I  would 
but  oftener  come  to  see  them,  a  railroad  trip  would 
not  so  upset  my  wits. 


AT  PINNEY'S  KANCH 

JOHN  LANSING  first  met  Mary  Hollister  at  the 
house  of  his  friend  Pinney,  whose  wife  was  her 
sister.  She  had  soft  gray  eyes,  a  pretty  color  in 
her  cheeks,  rosy  lips,  and  a  charming  figure.  In 
the  course  of  the  evening  somebody  suggested  mind- 
reading  as  a  pastime,  and  Lansing,  who  had  some 
powers,  or  supposed  powers,  in  that  direction,  al 
though  he  laughed  at  them  himself,  experimented 
in  turn  with  the  ladies.  He  failed  with  nearly  every 
subject  until  it  came  Mary  Hollister's  turn.  As 
she  placed  her  soft  palm  in  his,  closed  her  eyes,  and 
gave  herself  up  to  his  influence,  he  knew  that  he 
should  succeed  with  her,  and  so  he  did.  She  proved 
a  remarkably  sympathetic  subject,  and  Lansing 
was  himself  surprised,  and  the  spectators  fairly 
thrilled,  by  the  feats  he  was  able  to  perform  by  her 
aid.  After  that  evening  he  met  her  often,  and  there 
was  more  equally  remarkable  mind-reading ;  and 
then  mind-reading  was  dropped  for  heart-reading, 
and  the  old,  old  story  they  read  in  each  other's 
hearts  had  more  fascination  for  them  than  the  new 
science.  Having  once  discovered  that  their  hearts 
beat  in  unison,  they  took  no  more  interest  in  the 
relation  of  their  minds. 


AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH  367 


ears      ) 

t,— 


The  action  proper  of  this  story  begins  four  years 
after  their  marriage,  with  a  very  shocking  event, 
nothing  less  than  the  murder  of  Austin  Flint,  who 
was  found  dead  one  morning  in  the  house  in  which 
he  lived  alone.  Lansing  had  no  hand  in  the  deed, 
but  he  might  almost  as  well  have  had ;  for,  while 
absolutely  guiltless,  he  was  caught  in  one  of  those 
nets  of  circumstance  which  no  foresight  can  avoid, 
whereby  innocent  men  are  sometimes  snared  help 
lessly,  and  delivered  over  to  a  horrid  death.  There 
had  been  a  misunderstanding  between  him  and  the 
dead  man,  and  only  a  couple  of  days  before  the 
murder,  they  had  exchanged  blows  on  the  street. 
When  Flint  was  found  dead,  in  the  lack  of  any 
other  clue,  people  thought  of  Lansing.  He  real 
ized  that  this  was  so,  and  remained  silent  as  to  a 
fact  which  otherwise  he  would  have  testified  to  at 
the  inquest,  but  which  he  feared  might  now  imperil 
him.  He  had  been  at  Austin  Flint's  house  the 
night  of  the  murder,  and  might  have  committed  it, 
so  far  as  opportunity  was  concerned.  In  reality, 
the  motive  of  his  visit  was  anything  but  murderous. 
Deeply  chagrined  by  the  scandal  of  the  fight,  he 
had  gone  to  Flint  to  apologize,  and  to  make  up 
their  quarrel.  But  he  knew  very  well  that  nobody 
would  believe  that  this  was  his  true  object  in  seek 
ing  his  enemy  secretly  by  night,  while  the  admis-  , 
sion  of  the  visit  would  complete  a  circumstantial  / 
evidence  against  him  stronger  than  had  often_j 
hanged  men.  He  believed  that  no  one  but  the 


368  AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH 

dead  man  knew  of  the  call,  and  that  it  would  never 
be  found  out.  He  had  not  told  his  wife  of  it  at  the 
time,  and  still  less  afterward,  on  account  of  the 
anxiety  she  would  feel  at  his  position. 

Two  weeks  passed,  and  he  was  beginning  to 
breathe  freely  in  the  assurance  of  safety,  when,  like 
a  thunderbolt  from  a  cloud  that  seems  to  have 
passed  over,  the  catastrophe  came.  A  friend  met 
him  on  the  street  one  day,  and  warned  him  to  es 
cape  while  he  could.  It  appeared  that  he  had  been 
seen  to  enter  Flint's  house  that  night.  His  con 
cealment  of  the  fact  had  been  accepted  as  corrobo 
rating  evidence  of  his  guilt,  and  the  police,  who 
had  shadowed  him  from  the  first,  might  arrest  him 
at  any  moment.  The  conviction  that  he  was  guilty, 
which  the  friend  who  told  him  this  evidently  had, 
was  a  terrible  comment  on  the  desperateness  of  his 
position.  He  walked  home  as  in  a  dream.  His 
wife  had  gone  out  to  a  neighbor's.  His  little  boy 
came  to  him,  and  clambered  on  his  knee.  "  Papa, 
what  makes  your  face  so  wet  ?  "  he  asked,  for  there 
were  great  drops  on  his  forehead.  Then  his  wife 
came  in,  her  face  white,  her  eyes  full  of  horror. 
"  Oh,  John  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  They  say  you  were 
at  Mr.  Flint's  that  night,  and  they  are  going  to 
arrest  you.  Oh,  John,  what  does  it  mean  ?  Why 
don't  you  speak  ?  I  shall  go  mad,  if  you  do  not 
speak.  You  were  not  there !  Tell  me  that  you 
were  not  there  ! "  The  ghastly  face  he  raised  to 
hers  might  well  have  seemed  to  confess  everything. 


AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH  369 

At  least  she  seemed  to  take  it  so,  and  in  a  fit  of 
hysterical  weeping  sank  to  the  floor,  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands  upon  a  chair.  The  children, 
alarmed  at  the  scene,  began  to  cry.  It  was  grow 
ing  dark,  and  as  he  looked  out  of  the  window,  Lan 
sing  saw  an  officer  and  a  number  of  other  persons 
approaching  the  house.  They  were  coming  to 
arrest  him.  Animal  terror,  the  instinct  of  self- 
preservation,  seized  upon  his  faculties,  stunned  and 
demoralized  as  he  was  by  the  suddenness  with 
which  this  calamity  had  come  upon  him.  He 
opened  the  door  and  fled,  with  a  score  of  men  and 
boys  yelling  in  pursuit.  He  ran  wildly,  blindly, 
making  incredible  leaps  and  bounds  over  obstacles. 
As  men  sometimes  do  in  nightmares,  he  argued  with 
himself,  as  he  ran,  whether  this  could  possibly  be 
a  waking  experience,  and  inclined  to  think  that  it 
could  not.  It  must  be  a  dream.  It  was  too  fan 
tastically  horrible  to  be  anything  else.  ^^^^___ 

Presently  he  saw  just  before  "him  the  eddying, 
swirling  current  of  the  river,  swollen  by  a  freshet. 
Still  half  convinced  that  he  was  in  a  nightmare,  and, 
if  he  could  but  shake  it  off,  should  awake  in  his 
warm  bed,  he  plunged  headlong  in,  and  was  at  once 
swirled  out  of  sight  of  his  pursuers  beneath  the 
darkening  sky.  A  blow  from  a  floating  object 
caused  him  to  throw  up  his  arms,  and,  clutching 
something  solid,  he  clambered  upon  a  shed  carried 
away  by  the  freshet  from  an  up-river  farm.  All 
night  he  drifted  with  the  swift  current,  and  in  the 


370  AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH 

morning  landed  in  safety  thirty  miles  below  the 
village  from  which  he  had  fled  for  life. 

So  John  Lansing,  for  no  fault  whatever  except 
an  error  of  judgment,  if  even  it  was  that,  was  ban 
ished  from  home,  and  separated  from  his  family 
almost  as  hopelessly  as  if  he  were  dead.  To  return 
would  be  to  meet  an  accusation  of  murder  to  which 
his  flight  had  added  overwhelming  weight.  To 
write  to  his  wife  might  be  to  put  the  officers  of  the 
law,  who  doubtless  watched  her  closely,  upon  his 
scent. 

Under  an  assumed  name  he  made  his  way  to  the 
far  West,  and,  joining  the  rush  to  the  silver  mines 
of  Colorado,  was  among  the  lucky  ones.  At  the 
end  of  three  years  he  was  a  rich  man.  What  he 
had  made  the  money  for,  he  could  not  tell,  except 
that  the  engrossment  of  the  struggle  had  helped 
him  to  forget  his  wretchedness.  Not  that  he  ever 
did  forget  it.  His  wife  and  babies,  from  whose 
embraces  he  had  been  so  suddenly  torn,  were  always 
in  his  thoughts.  Above  all,  he  could  not  forget 
the  look  of  horror  in  his  wife's  eyes  in  that  last 
terrible  scene.  To  see  her  again,  and  convince  her, 
if  not  others,  that  he  was  innocent,  was  a  need 
which  so  grew  upon  him  that,  at  the  end  of  three 
years,  he  determined  to  take  his  life  in  his  hand 
and  return  home  openly.  This  life  of  exile  was 
not  worth  living. 

One  day,  in  the  course  of  setting  his  affairs  in 
order  for  his  return,  lie  was  visiting  a  mining  camp 


AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH  371 

remote  from  the  settlements,  when  a  voice  addressed 
him  by  his  old  name,  and  looking  around  he  saw 
Pinney.  The  latter's  first  words,  as  soon  as  his 
astonishment  and  delight  had  found  some  expres 
sion,  assured  Lansing  that  he  was  no  longer  in 
danger.  The  murderer  of  Austin  Flint  had  been 
discovered,  convicted,  and  hanged  two  years  previ 
ous.  As  for  Lansing,  it  had  been  taken  for  granted 
that  he  was  drowned  when  he  leaped  into  the  river, 
and  there  had  been  no  further  search  for  him.  His 
wife  had  been  broken-hearted  ever  since,  but  she 
and  the  children  were  otherwise  well,  according  to 
the  last  letters  received  by  Pinney,  who,  with  his 
wife,  had  moved  out  to  Colorado  a  year  previous. 

Of  course  Lansing's  only  idea  now  was  to  get 
home  as  fast  as  steam  could  carry  him ;  but  they 
were  one  hundred  miles  from  the  railroad,  and  the 
only  communication  was  by  stage.  It  would  get 
up  from  the  railroad  the  next  day,  and  go  back 
the  following  morning.  Pinney  took  Lansing  out 
to  his  ranch,  some  miles  from  the  mining  camp,  to 
pass  the  interval.  The  first  thing  he  asked  Mrs. 
Pinney  was  if  she  had  a  photograph  of  his  wife. 
When  she  brought  him  one,  he  durst  not  look  at  it 
before  his  hosts.  Not  till  he  had  gone  to  his  room 
and  locked  the  door  did  he  trust  himself  to  see 
again  the  face  of  his  beloved  Mary. 

That  evening  Mrs.  Pinney  told  him  how  his  wife 
and  children  had  fared  in  his  absence.  Her  father 
had  helped  them  at  first,  but  after  his  death  Mary 


372  AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH 

had  depended  upon  needlework  for  support,  finding 
it  hard  to  make  the  two  ends  meet. 

Lansing  groaned  at  hearing  this,  but  Mrs.  Pin- 
ney  comforted  him.  It  was  well  worth  while  having 
troubles,  she  said,  if  they  could  be  made  up  to  one, 
as  all  Mary's  would  be  to  her  when  she  saw  her 
husband. 

The  upcoming  stage  brought  the  mail,  and  next 
day  Pinney  rode  into  camp  to  get  his  weekly  news 
paper,  and  engage  a  passage  down  the  next  morning 
for  Lansing.  The  day  dragged  terribly  to  the  lat 
ter,  who  stayed  at  the  ranch.  He  was  quite  unfit 
for  any  social  purpose,  as  Mrs.  Pinney,  to  whom 
a  guest  in  that  lonely  place  was  a  rare  treat,  found 
to  her  sorrow,  though  indeed  she  could  not  blame 
him  for  being  poor  company.  He  passed  hours, 
locked  in  his  room,  brooding  over  Mary's  picture. 
The  rest  of  the  day  he  spent  wandering  about 
the  place,  smiling  and  talking  to  himself  like  an 
imbecile,  as  he  dreamed  of  the  happiness  so  soon 
to  crown  his  trials.  If  he  could  have  put  himself 
in  communication  with  Mary  by  telegraph  during 
this  period  of  waiting,  it  would  have  been  easier 
to  get  through,  but  the  nearest  telegraph  station 
was  at  the  railroad.  In  the  afternoon  he  saddled 
a  horse  and  rode  about  the  country,  thus  disposing 
of  a  couple  of  hours. 

When  he  came  back  to  the  house,  he  saw  that 
Pinney  had  returned,  for  his  horse  was  tethered  to 
a  post  of  the  front  piazza.  The  doors  and  windows 


AT  PINNEY'S   RANCH  373 

of  the  living-room  were  open,  and  as  he  reached  the 
front  door,  he  heard  Pinney  and  his  wife  talking 
in  agitated  tones. 

"  Oh,  how  could  God  let  such  an  awful  thing 
happen  ? "  she  was  exclaiming,  in  a  voice  broken 
by  hysterical  sobbing.  "  I  'm  sure  there  was  never 
anything  half  so  horrible  before.  Just  as  John 
was  coming  home  to  her,  and  she  worshiping  him 
so,  and  he  her !  Oh,  it  will  kill  him !  Who  is 
going  to  tell  him?  Who  can  tell  him  ?  " 

"He  must  not  be  told  to-day,"  said  Pinney's 
voice.  "  We  must  keep  it  from  him  at  least  for 
to-day." 

Lansing  entered  the  room.  "  Is  she  dead  ?  "  he 
asked  quietly.  He  could  not  doubt,  from  what  he 
had  overheard,  that  she  was. 

"  God  help  him  !  He  '11  have  to  know  it  now," 
exclaimed  Pinney. 

"Is  she  dead?"  repeated  Lansing. 

"  No,  she  is  n't  dead." 

"  Is  she  dying,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  she  is  well." 

"  It 's  the  children,  then?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Pinney.     "  They  are  all  right." 

"  Then,  in  God's  name,  what  is  it  ?  "  demanded 
Lansing,  unable  to  conceive  what  serious  evil  could 
have  happened  to  him,  if  nothing  had  befallen  his 
wife  and  babies. 

"  We  can't  keep  it  from  him  now,"  said  Pinney 
to  his  wife.  "  You  '11  have  to  give  him  her  letter." 


374  AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  what  it  is  ?  Why  do  you 
keep  me  in  suspense  ?  "  asked  Lansing,  in  a  voice 
husky  with  a  dread  he  knew  not  of  what. 

"  I  can't,  man.  Don't  ask  me !  "  groaned  Pinney. 
"  It 's  better  that  you  should  read  it." 

Mrs.  Pinney's  face  expressed  an  agony  of  com 
passion  as,  still  half  clutching  it,  she  held  out  a 
letter  to  Lansing.  "  John,  oh,  John,"  she  sobbed  ; 
"  remember,  she  's  not  to  blame !  She  does  n't 
know." 

The  letter  was  in  his  wife's  handwriting,  ad 
dressed  to  Mrs.  Pinney,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

You  will  be  surprised  by  what  I  am  going  to 
tell  you.  You,  who  know  how  I  loved  John,  must 
have  taken  it  for  granted  that  I  would  never  marry 
again.  Not  that  it  could  matter  to  him.  Too 
well  I  feel  the  gulf  between  the  dead  and  living 
to  fancy  that  his  peace  could  be  troubled  by  any 
of  the  weaknesses  of  mortal  hearts.  Indeed,  he 
often  used  to  tell  me  that,  if  he  died,  he  wanted 
me  to  marry  again,  if  ever  I  felt  like  doing  so  ; 
but  in  those  happy  days  I  was  always  sure  that  I 
should  be  taken  first.  It  was  he  who  was  to  go 
first,  though,  and  now  it  is  for  the  sake  of  his  chil 
dren  that  I  am  going  to  do  what  I  never  thought 
I  could.  I  am  going  to  marry  again.  As  they 
grow  older  and  need  more,  I  find  it  impossible  for 
me  to  support  them,  though  I  do  not  mind  how 
hard  I  work,  and  would  wear  my  fingers  to  the 


AT  PINNEY'S   RANCH  37, 

bone  rather  than  take  any  other  man's  name  after 
being  John's  wife.  But  I  cannot  care  for  them 
as  they  should  be  cared  for.  Johnny  is  now  six, 
and  ought  to  go  to  school,  but  I  cannot  dress  him 
decently  enough  to  send  him.  Mary  has  outgrown 
all  her  clothes,  and  I  cannot  get  her  more.  Her 
feet  are  too  tender  to  go  bare,  and  I  cannot  buy 
her  shoes.  I  get  less  and  less  sewing  since  the 
new  dressmaker  came  to  the  village,  and  soon  shall 
have  none.  We  live,  oh  so  plainly !  For  myself 
I  should  not  care,  but  the  children  are  growing 
and  need  better  food.  They  are  John's  children, 
and  for  their  sake  I  have  brought  myself  to  do 
what  I  never  could  have  done  but  for  them.  I 
have  promised  to  marry  Mr.  Whitcomb.  I  have 
not  deceived  him  as  to  why  alone  I  marry  him. 
He  has  promised  to  care  for  the  children  as  his 
own,  and  to  send  Johnny  to  college,  for  I  know 
his  father  would  have  wanted  him  to  go.  It  will 
be  a  very  quiet  wedding,  of  course.  Mr.  Whit- 
comb  has  had  some  cards  printed  to  send  to  a 
few  friends,  and  I  inclose  one  to  you.  I  cannot 
say  that  I  wish  you  could  be  present,  for  it  will  be 
anything  but  a  joyful  day  to  me.  But  when  I 
meet  John  in  heaven,  he  will  hold  me  to  account 
for  the  children  he  left  me,  and  this  is  the  only 
way  by  which  I  can  provide  for  them.  So  long 
as  it  is  well  with  them,  I  ought  not  to  care  for  my 
self.  Your  sister, 

MAKY  LANSING. 


?>76  AT   PINNEY'S  RANCH 

The  card  announced  that  the  wedding  would 
take  place  at  the  home  of  the  bride,  at  six  o'clock 
on  the  afternoon  of  the  27th  of  June. 

It  was  June  27  that  day,  and  it  was  nearly  five 
o'clock.  "  The  Lord  help  you !  "  ejaculated  Pinney, 
as  he  saw,  by  the  ashen  hue  which  overspread 
Lansing's  face,  that  the  full  realization  of  his 
situation  had  come  home  to  him.  "  We  meant  to 
keep  it  from  you  till  to-morrow.  It  might  be  a 
little  easier  not  to  know  it  till  it  was  over  than 
now,  when  it  is  going  on,  and  you  not  able  to  lift 
a  finger  to  stop  it." 

"  Oh,  John,"  cried  Mrs.  Pinney  once  more ; 
"  remember,  she  does  n't  know !  "  and,  sobbing 
hysterically,  she  fled  from  the  room,  unable  to 
endure  the  sight  of  Lansing's  face. 

He  had  fallen  into  a  chair,  and  was  motionless, 
save  for  the  slow  and  labored  breathing  which 
shook  his  body.  As  he  sat  there  in  Pinney's 
ranch  this  pleasant  afternoon,  the  wife  whom  he 
worshiped  never  so  passionately  as  now,  at  their 
home  one  thousand  miles  away,  was  holding  an 
other  man  by  the  hand,  and  promising  to  be  his 
wife. 

It  was  five  minutes  to  five  by  the  clock  on  the 
wall  before  him.  It  therefore  wanted  but  five 
minutes  of  six,  the  hour  of  the  wedding,  at  home, 
the  difference  in  time  being  just  an  hour.  In  the 
years  of  his  exile,  by  way  of  enhancing  the  vivid 
ness  of  his  dreams  of  home,  he  had  calculated 


AT   PINNEY'S  RANCH  377 

exactly  the  difference  in  time  from  various  points 
in  Colorado,  so  that  he  could  say  to  himself,  "  Now 
Mary  is  putting  the  babies  to  bed ; "  "  Now  it  is 
her  own  bedtime  ;  "  "  Now  she  is  waking  up  ;  "  or 
"Now  the  church-bells  are  ringing,  and  she  is 
walking  to  church."  He  was  accustomed  to  carry 
these  two  standards  of  time  always  in  his  head, 
reading  one  by  the  other,  and  it  was  this  habit, 
bred  of  doting  fondness,  which  now  would  compel 
him  to  follow,  as  if  he  were  a  spectator,  minute 
by  minute,  each  step  of  the  scene  being  enacted  so 
far  away. 

People  were  prompt  at  weddings.  No  doubt 
already  the  few  guests  were  arriving,  stared  at  by 
the  neighbors  from  their  windows.  The  compla 
cent  bridegroom  was  by  this  time  on  his  way  to 
the  home  of  the  bride,  or  perhaps  knocking  at  the 
door.  Lansing  knew  him  well,  an  elderly,  well- 
to-do  furniture-maker,  who  had  been  used  to  ex 
press  a  fatherly  admiration  for  Mary.  The  bride 
was  upstairs  in  her  chamber,  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  her  toilet ;  or,  at  this  very  moment,  it 
might  be,  was  descending  the  stairs  to  take  the 
bridegoom's  arm  and  go  in  to  be  married. 

Lansing  gasped.  The  mountain  wind  was  blow 
ing  through  the  room,  but  he  was  suffocating. 

Pinney's  voice,  seeming  to  come  from  very  far 
away,  was  in  his  ears.  "  Rouse  yourself,  for  God's 
sake !  Don't  give  it  all  up  that  way.  I  believe 
there 's  a  chance  yet.  Remember  the  mind-read- 


378  AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH 

ing  you  used  to  do  with  her.  You  could  put 
almost  anything  into  her  mind  by  just  willing  it 
there.  That 's  what  I  mean.  Will  her  to  stop 
what  she  is  doing  now.  Perhaps  you  may  save 
her  yet.  There 's  a  chance  you  may  do  it.  I 
don't  say  there  's  more  than  a  chance,  but  there  's 
that.  There  's  a  bare  chance.  That 's  better  than 
giving  up.  I  've  heard  of  such  things  being  done. 
I  've  read  of  them.  Try  it,  for  God's  sake  !  Don't 
give  up." 

At  any  previous  moment  of  his  life  the  sugges 
tion  that  he  could,  by  mere  will  power,  move  the 
mind  of  a  person  a  thousand  miles  away,  so  as  to 
reverse  a  deliberate  decision,  would  have  appeared 
to  Lansing  as  wholly  preposterous  as  no  doubt  it 
does  to  any  who  read  these  lines.  But  a  man, 
however  logical  he  may  be  on  land,  will  grasp  at 
a  straw  when  drowning,  as  if  it  were  a  log.  Pinney 
had  no  need  to  use  arguments  or  adjurations  to 
induce  Lansing  to  adopt  his  suggestion.  The 
man  before  him  was  in  no  mood  to  balance  proba 
bilities  against  improbabilities.  It  was  enough 
that  the  project  offered  a  chance  of  success,  albeit 
infinitesimal ;  for  on  the  other  hand  there  was 
nothing  but  an  intolerable  despair,  and  a  fate  that 
truly  seemed  more  than  flesh  and  blood  could  bear. 

Lansing  had  sprung  to  his  feet  while  Pinney 
was  speaking.  "  I  'm  going  to  try  it,  and  may  God 
Almighty  help  me !  "  he  cried,  in  a  terrible  voice. 

"Amen !  "  echoed  Pinney. 


AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH  379 

Lansing  sank  into  his  chair  again,  and  sat  lean 
ing  slightly  forward,  in  a  rigid  attitude.  The 
expression  of  his  eyes  at  once  became  fixed.  His 
features  grew  tense,  and  the  muscles  of  his  face 
stood  out.  As  if  to  steady  the  mental  strain  by 
a  physical  one,  he  had  taken  from  the  table  a 
horseshoe  which  had  lain  there,  and  held  it  in  a 
convulsive  grip. 

Pinney  had  made  this  extraordinary  suggestion 
in  the  hope  of  diverting  Lansing's  mind  for  a 
moment  from  his  terrible  situation,  and  with  not 
so  much  faith  even  as  he  feigned  that  it  would  be 
of  any  practical  avail.  But  now,  as  he  looked 
upon  the  ghastly  face  before  him,  and  realized  the 
tremendous  concentration  of  purpose,  the  agony 
of  will,  which  it  expressed,  he  was  impressed  that 
it  would  not  be  marvelous  if  some  marvel  should 
be  the  issue.  Certainly,  if  the  will  really  had  any 
such  power  as  Lansing  was  trying  to  exert,  as  so 
many  theorists  maintained,  there  could  never  arise 
circumstances  better  calculated  than  these  to  call 
forth  a  supreme  assertion  of  the  faculty.  He 
went  out  of  the  room  on  tiptoe,  and  left  his  friend 
alone  to  fight  this  strange  and  terrible  battle  with 
the  powers  of  the  air  for  the  honor  of  his  wife  and 
his  own. 

There  was  little  enough  need  of  any  preliminary 
effort  on  Lansing's  part  to  fix  his  thoughts  upon 
Mary.  It  was  only  requisite  that  to  the  intensity 
of  the  mental  vision,  with  which  he  had  before 


380  AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH 

imagined  her,  should  be  added  the  activity  of  the 
will,  turning  the  former  mood  of  despair  into  one 
of  resistance.  He  knew  in  what  room  of  their 
house  the  wedding  party  must  now  be  gathered, 
and  was  able  to  represent  to  himself  the  scene 
there  as  vividly  as  if  he  had  been  present.  He 
saw  the  relatives  assembled;  he  saw  Mr.  Daven 
port,  the  minister,  and,  facing  him,  the  bridal 
couple,  in  the  only  spot  where  they  could  well 
stand,  before  the  fireplace.  But  from  all  the  oth 
ers,  from  the  guests,  from  the  minister,  from  the 
bridegroom,  he  turned  his  thoughts,  to  fix  them 
on  the  bride  alone.  He  saw  her  as  if  through 

O 

the  small  end  of  an  immensely  long  telescope,  dis 
tinctly,  but  at  an  immeasurable  distance.  On  this 
face  his  mental  gaze  was  riveted,  as  by  conclusive 
efforts  his  will  strove  to  reach  and  move  hers 
against  the  thing  that  she  was  doing.  Although 
his  former  experiments  in  mental  phenomena  had 
in  a  measure  familiarized  him  with  the  mode  of 
addressing  his  powers  to  such  an  undertaking  as 
this,  yet  the  present  effort  was  on  a  scale  so  much 
vaster  that  his  will  for  a  time  seemed  appalled, 
and  refused  to  go  out  from  him,  as  a  bird  put 
forth  from  a  ship  at  sea  returns  again  and  again 
before  daring  to  essay  the  distant  flight  to  land. 
He  felt  that  he  was  gaining  nothing.  He  was  as 
one  who  beats  the  air.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to 
struggle  against  the  influences  that  tended  to  deflect 
and  dissipate  his  thoughts.  Again  and  again  a 


AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH  381 

conviction  of  the  uselessness  of  the  attempt,  of  the 
madness  of  imagining  that  a  mere  man  could  send 
a  wish,  like  a  voice,  across  a  continent,  laid  its 
paralyzing  touch  upon  his  will,  and  nothing  but  a 
sense  of  the  black  horror  which  failure  meant 
enabled  him  to  throw  it  off.  If  he  but  once  ad 
mitted  the  idea  of  failing,  all  was  lost.  He  must 
believe  that  he  could  do  this  thing,  or  he  surely 
could  not.  To  question  it  was  to  surrender  his 
wife  ;  to  despair  was  to  abandon  her  to  her  fate. 
So,  as  a  wrestler  strains  against  a  mighty  antago 
nist,  his  will  strained  and  tugged  in  supreme  stress 
against  the  impalpable  obstruction  of  space,  and, 
fighting  despair  with  despair,  doggedly  held  to  its 
purpose,  and  sought  to  keep  his  faculties  unre 
mittingly  streaming  to  one  end.  Finally,  as  this 
tremendous  effort,  which  made  minutes  seem  hours, 
went  on,  there  came  a  sense  of  efficiency,  the  feel 
ing  of  achieving  something.  From  this  conscious 
ness  was  first  born  a  faith,  no  longer  desperate, 
but  rational,  that  he  might  succeed,  and  with  faith 
came  an  instantaneous  tenfold  multiplication  of 
force.  The  overflow  of  energy  lost  the  tendency 
to  dissipation  and  became  steady.  The  will  ap 
peared  to  be  getting  the  mental  faculties  more 
perfectly  in  hand,  if  the  expression  may  be  used, 
not  only  concentrating  but  fairly  fusing  them  to 
gether  by  the  intensity  with  which  it  drove  them 
to  their  object.  It  was  time.  Already,  perhaps, 
Mary  was  about  to  utter  the  vows  that  would  give 


382  AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH 

her  to  another.  Lansing's  lips  moved.  As  if  he 
were  standing  at  her  side,  he  murmured  with 
strained  and  labored  utterance  ejaculations  of  ap 
peal  and  adjuration. 

Then  came  the  climax  of  the  stupendous  struggle. 
He  became  aware  of  a  sensation  so  amazing  that 
I  know  not  if  it  can  be  described  at  all,  —  a  sensa 
tion  comparable  to  that  which  comes  up  the  mile- 
long  sounding-line,  telling  that  it  touches  bottom. 
Fainter  far,  as  much  finer  as  is  mind  than  matter, 
yet  not  less  unmistakable,  was  the  thrill  which  told 
the  man,  agonizing  on  that  lonely  mountain  of 
Colorado,  that  the  will  which  he  had  sent  forth  to 
touch  the  mind  of  another,  a  thousand  miles  away, 
had  found  its  resting-place,  and  the  chain  between 
them  was  complete.  No  longer  projected  at  ran 
dom  into  the  void,  but  as  if  it  sent  along  an  estab 
lished  medium  of  communication,  his  will  now 
seemed  to  work  upon  hers,  not  uncertainly  and 
with  difficulty,  but  as  if  in  immediate  contact. 
Simultaneously,  also,  its  mood  changed.  No  more 
appealing,  agonizing,  desperate,  it  became  insist 
ent,  imperious,  dominating.  For  only  a  few  mo 
ments  it  remained  at  this  pitch,  and  then,  the 
mental  tension  suddenly  relaxing,  he  aroused  to  a 
perception  of  his  surroundings,  of  which  toward  the 
last  he  had  become  oblivious.  He  was  drenched 
with  perspiration  and  completely  exhausted.  The 
iron  horseshoe  which  he  had  held  in  his  hands  was 
drawn  halfway  out. 


AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH  383 

Thirty-six  hours  later,  Lansing,  accompanied  by 
Pinney,  climbed  down  from  the  stage  at  the  rail 
road  station.  During  the  interval  Lansing  had 
neither  eaten  nor  slept.  If  at  moments  in  that 
time  he  was  able  to  indulge  the  hope  that  his  tre 
mendous  experiment  had  been  successful,  for  the 
main  part  the  overwhelming  presumption  of  com 
mon  sense  and  common  experience  against  such  a 
notion  made  it  seem  childish  folly  to  entertain  it. 

At  the  station  was  to  be  sent  the  dispatch,  the 
reply  to  which  would  determine  Mary's  fate  and 
his  own.  Pinney  signed  it,  so  that,  if  the  worst 
were  true,  Lansing's  existence  might  still  remain 
a  secret ;  for  of  going  back  to  her  in  that  case,  to 
make  her  a  sharer  of  his  shame,  there  was  no 
thought  on  his  part.  The  dispatch  was  addressed 
to  Mr.  Davenport,  Mary's  minister,  and  merely 
asked  if  the  wedding  had  taken  place. 

They  had  to  wait  two  hours  for  the  answer. 
When  it  came,  Lansing  was  without  on  the  plat 
form,  and  Pinney  was  in  the  office.  The  operator 
mercifully  shortened  his  suspense  by  reading  the 
purport  of  the  message  from  the  tape :  "  The  dis 
patch  in  answer  to  yours  says  that  the  wedding  did 
not  take  place." 

Pinney  sprang  out  upon  the  platform.  At  sight 
of  Lansing's  look  of  ghastly  questioning,  the  tears 
blinded  him,  and  he  could  not  speak,  but  the  wild 
exultation  of  his  face  and  gestures  was  speech 
enough. 


384  AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH 

The  second  day  following,  Lansing  clasped  his 
wife  to  his  breast,  and  this  is  the  story  she  told 
him,  interrupted  with  weepings  and  shudderings 
and  ecstatic  embraces  of  reassurance.  The  reasons 
which  had  determined  her,  in  disregard  of  the 
dictates  of  her  own  heart,  to  marry  again,  have 
been  sufficiently  intimated  in  her  letter  to  Mrs. 
Pinney.  For  the  rest,  Mr.  Whitcomb  was  a 
highly  respectable  man,  whom  she  esteemed  and 
believed  to  be  good  and  worthy.  When  the  hour 
set  for  the  marriage  arrived,  and  she  took  her 
place  by  his  side  before  the  minister  and  the 
guests,  her  heart  indeed  was  like  lead,  but  her 
mind  calm  and  resolved.  The  preliminary  prayer 
was  long,  and  it  was  natural,  as  it  went  on,  that 
her  thoughts  should  go  back  to  the  day  when  she 
had  thus  stood  by  another's  side.  She  had  ado  to 
crowd  back  the  scalding  tears,  as  she  contrasted 
her  present  mood  of  resignation  with  the  mingling 
of  virginal  timidity  and  the  abandon  of  love  in  her 
heart  that  other  day.  Suddenly,  seeming  to  rise 
out  of  this  painful  contrast  of  the  past  and  the 
present,  a  feeling  of  abhorrence  for  the  act  to 
which  she  was  committed  possessed  her  mind. 
She  had  all  along  shrunk  from  it,  as  any  sensitive 
woman  might  from  a  marriage  without  love,  but 
there  had  been  nothing  in  that  shrinking  to  com 
pare  in  intensity  with  this  uncontrollable  aversion 
which  now  seized  upon  her  to  the  idea  of  holding  a 
wife's  relation  to  the  man  by  her  side.  It  had  all 


AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH  385 

at  once  come  over  her  that  she  could  not  do  it. 
Nevertheless  she  was  a  sensible  and  rational  wo 
man  as  well  as  a  sweet  and  lovely  one.  What 
ever  might  be  the  origin  of  this  sudden  repug 
nance,  she  knew  it  had  none  in  reason.  She  was 
fulfilling  a  promise  which  she  had  maturely  con 
sidered,  and  neither  in  justice  to  herself  nor  the 
man  to  whom  she  had  given  it  could  she  let  a 
purely  hysterical  attack  like  this  prevent  its  con 
summation.  She  called  reason  and  common  sense 
to  her  aid,  and  resolutely  struggled  to  banish  the 
distressing  fancies  that  assailed  her.  The  moisture 
stood  out  upon  her  forehead  with  the  severity  of 
the  conflict,  which  momentarily  increased.  At 
last  the  minister  ended  his  prayer,  of  which  she 
had  not  heard  a  word.  The  bridal  pair  were  bid 
den  to  take  each  other  by  the  hand.  As  the  bride 
groom's  fingers  closed  around  hers,  she  could  not 
avoid  a  shudder  as  at  a  loathsome  contact.  It 
was  only  by  a  supreme  effort  of  self-control  that 
she  restrained  from  snatching  her  hand  away  with 
a  scream.  She  did  not  hear  what  the  minister 
went  on  to  say.  Every  faculty  was  concentrated 
on  the  struggle,  which  had  now  become  one  of 
desperation,  to  repress  an  outbreak  of  the  storm 
that  was  raging  within.  For,  despite  the  shudder 
ing  protest  of  every  instinct  and  the  wild  repul 
sion  with  which  every  nerve  tingled,  she  was  de 
termined  to  go  through  the  ceremony.  But  though 
the  will  in  its  citadel  still  held  out,  she  knew  that 


386  AT   PINNEY'S   RANCH 

it  could  not  be  for  long.  Each  wave  of  emotion 
that  it  withstood  was  higher,  stronger,  than  the 
last.  She  felt  that  it  was  going,  going.  She 
prayed  that  the  minister  might  be  quick,  while 
yet  she  retained  a  little  self-command,  and  give 
her  an  opportunity  to  utter  some  binding  vow 
which  should  make  good  her  solemn  engagement, 
and  avert  the  scandal  of  the  outbreak  on  the  verge 
of  which  she  was  trembling.  u  Do  you,"  said  the 
minister  to  Mr.  Whitcomb,  "  take  this  woman 
whom  you  hold  by  the  hand  to  be  your  wife,  to 
honor,  protect,  and  love  while  you  live  ?  "  "I  do," 
replied  the  bridegroom  promptly.  "  Do  you,"  said 
the  minister,  looking  at  Mary,  "take  the  man 
whom  you  hold  by  the  hand  to  be  your  husband, 
to  love  and  honor  while  you  live  ?  "  Mary  tried 
to  say  "  Yes,"  but  at  the  effort  there  surged  up 
against  it  an  opposition  that  was  almost  tangible 
in  its  overpowering  force.  No  longer  merely 
operating  upon  her  sensibilities,  the  inexplicable 
influence  that  was  conquering  her  now  seized  on 
her  physical  functions,  and  laid  its  interdict  upon 
her  tongue.  Three  times  she  strove  to  throw  off 
the  incubus,  to  speak,  but  in  vain.  Great  drops 
were  on  her  forehead  ;  she  was  deadly  pale,  and 
her  eyes  were  wild  and  staring;  her  features 
twitched  as  in  a  spasm,  while  she  stood  there 
struggling  with  the  invisible  power  that  sealed  her 
lips.  There  was  a  sudden  movement  among  the 
spectators  ;  they  were  whispering  together.  They 


AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH  387 

saw  that  something  was  wrong.  "  Do  you  thus 
promise  ?  "  repeated  the  minister,  after  a  pause. 
"Nod,  if  you  can't  speak,"  murmured  the  bride 
groom.  His  words  were  the  hiss  of  a  serpent  in  her 
ears.  Her  will  resisted  no  longer  ;  her  soul  was 
wholly  possessed  by  unreasoning  terror  of  the  man 
and  horror  of  the  marriage.  "  No  !  no !  no  !  "  she 
screamed  in  piercing  tones,  and  snatching  her 
hand  from  the  bridegroom,  she  threw  herself  upon 
the  breast  of  the  astonished  minister,  sobbing 
wildly  as  she  clung  to  him,  "  Save  me,  save  me ! 
Take  me  away  !  I  can't  marry  him,  —  I  can't ! 
Oh,  I  can't !  " 

The  wedding  broke  up  in  confusion,  and  that 
is  the  way,  if  you  choose  to  think  so,  that  John 
Lansing,  one  thousand  miles  away,  saved  his  wife 
from  marrying  another  man. 

"  If  you  choose  to  think  so,"  I  say,  for 
perfectly  competent  to  argue  that  the  influence 
which  Mary  Lansing  yielded  was  merely  an  hystei 
ical  attack,  not  wholly  strange  at  such  a  moment  in 
the  case  of  a  woman  devoted  to  her  first  husband, 
and  reluctantly  consenting  to  second  nuptials.  On 
this  theory,  Lansing's  simultaneous  agony  at  Pin- 
ney's  ranch  in  Colorado  was  merely  a  coincidence  ; 
interesting,  perhaps,  but  unnecessary  to  account 
for  his  wife's  behavior.  That  John  and  Mary 
Lansing  should  reject  with  indignation  this  simple 
method  of  accounting  for  their  great  deliverance 
is  not  at  all  surprising  in  view  of  the  common  pro- 


338  AT  PINNEY'S  RANCH 

clivity  of  people  to  be  impressed  with  the  extraor 
dinary  side  of  circumstances  which  affect  them 
selves  ;  nor  is  there  any  reason  why  their  opinion 
of  the  true  explanation  of  the  facts  should  be  given 
more  weight  than  another's.  The  writer,  who  has 
merely  endeavored  to  put  this  story  into  narrative 
form,  has  formed  no  opinion  on  it  which  is  satis 
factory  to  himself,  and  therefore  abstains  from  any 
effort  to  influence  the  reader's  judgment. 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 

IT  is  now  about  a  year  since  I  took  passage  at 
Calcutta  in  the  ship  Adelaide  for  New  York.  We 
had  baffling  weather  till  New  Amsterdam  Island 
was  sighted,  where  we  took  a  new  point  of  depar 
ture.  Three  days  later,  a  terrible  gale  struck  us. 
Four  days  we  flew  before  it,  whither,  no  one  knew, 
for  neither  sun,  moon,  nor  stars  were  at  any  time 
visible,  and  we  could  take  no  observation.  Toward 
midnight  of  the  fourth  day,  the  glare  of  lightning 
revealed  the  Adelaide  in  a  hopeless  position,  close 
in  upon  a  low-lying  shore,  and  driving  straight 
toward  it.  All  around  and  astern  far  out  to  sea 
was  such  a  maze  of  rocks  and  shoals  that  it  was 
a  miracle  we  had  come  so  far.  Presently  the  ship 
struck,  and  almost  instantly  went  to  pieces,  so 
great  was  the  violence  of  the  sea.  I  gave  myself 
up  for  lost,  and  was  indeed  already  past  the  worst 
of  drowning,  when  I  was  recalled  to  consciousness 
by  being  thrown  with  a  tremendous  shock  upon 
the  beach.  I  had  just  strength  enough  to  drag 
myself  above  the  reach  of  the  waves,  and  then  I 
fell  down  and  knew  no  more. 

When  I  awoke,  the  storm  was  over.  The  sun, 
already  halfway  up  the  sky,  had  dried  my  cloth- 


390  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 

ing,  and  renewed  the  vigor  of  my  bruised  and 
aching  limbs.  On  sea  or  shore  I  saw  no  vestige 
of  my  ship  or  my  companions,  of  whom  I  appeared 
the  sole  survivor.  I  was  not,  however,  alone.  A 
group  of  persons,  apparently  the  inhabitants  of 
the  country,  stood  near,  observing  me  with  looks  of 
friendliness  which  at  once  freed  me  from  appre 
hension  as  to  my  treatment  at  their  hands.  They 
were  a  white  and  handsome  people,  evidently  of 
a  high  order  of  civilization,  though  I  recognized 
in  them  the  traits  of  no  race  with  which  I  was 
familiar. 

Seeing  that  it  was  evidently  their  idea  of  eti 
quette  to  leave  it  to  strangers  to  open  conversa 
tion,  I  addressed  them  in  English,  but  failed  to 
elicit  any  response  beyond  deprecating  smiles.  I 
then  accosted  them  successively  in  the  French, 
German,  Italian,  Spanish,  Dutch,  and  Portuguese 
tongues,  but  with  no  better  results.  I  began  to 
be  very  much  puzzled  as  to  what  could  possibly  be 
the  nationality  of  a  white  and  evidently  civilized 
race  to  which  no  one  of  the  tongues  of  the  great 
seafaring  nations  was  intelligible.  The  oddest 
thing  of  all  was  the  unbroken  silence  with  which 
they  contemplated  my  efforts  to  open  communica 
tion  with  them.  It  was  as  if  they  were  agreed  not 
to  give  me  a  clue  to  their  language  by  even  a 
whisper ;  for  while  they  regarded  one  another  with 
looks  of  smiling  intelligence,  they  did  not  once 
open  their  lips.  But  if  this  behavior  suggested 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME  391 

that  they  were  amusing  themselves  at  my  expense, 
that  presumption  was  negatived  by  the  unmistak 
able  friendliness  and  sympathy  which  their  whole 
bearing  expressed. 

A  most  extraordinary  conjecture  occurred  to 
me.  Could  it  be  that  these  strange  people  were 
dumb  ?  Such  a  freak  of  nature  as  an  entire  race 
thus  afflicted  had  never  indeed  been  heard  of,  but 
who  could  say  what  wonders  the  unexplored  vasts 
of  the  great  Southern  Ocean  might  thus  far  have 
hid  from  human  ken  ?  Now,  among  the  scraps  of 
useless  information  which  lumbered  my  mind  was 
an  acquaintance  with  the  deaf-and-dumb  alphabet, 
and  forthwith  I  began  to  spell  out  with  my  fingers 
some  of  the  phrases  I  had  already  uttered  to  so 
little  effect.  My  resort  to  the  sign  language  over 
came  the  last  remnant  of  gravity  in  the  already 
profusely  smiling  group.  The  small  boys  now 
rolled  on  the  ground  in  convulsions  of  mirth, 
while  the  grave  and  reverend  seniors,  who  had 
hitherto  kept  them  in  check,  were  fain  momen 
tarily  to  avert  their  faces,  and  I  could  see  their 
bodies  shaking  with  laughter.  The  greatest  clown 
in  the  world  never  received  a  more  flattering  trib 
ute  to  his  powers  to  amuse  than  had  been  called 
forth  by  mine  to  make  myself  understood.  Nat 
urally,  however,  I  was  not  flattered,  but  on  the 
contrary  entirely  discomfited.  Angry  I  could  not 
well  be,  for  the  deprecating  manner  in  which  all, 
excepting  of  course  the  boys,  yielded  to  their  per- 


392  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 

ception  of  the  ridiculous,  and  the  distress  they 
showed  at  their  failure  in  self-control,  made  me 
seem  the  aggressor.  It  was  as  if  they  were  very 
sorry  for  me,  and  ready  to  put  themselves  wholly 
at  my  service,  if  I  would  only  refrain  from  reduc 
ing  them  to  a  state  of  disability  by  being  so  ex 
quisitely  absurd.  Certainly  this  evidently  amiable 
race  had  a  very  embarrassing  way  of  receiving 
strangers. 

Just  at  this  moment,  when  my  bewilderment 
was  fast  verging  on  exasperation,  relief  came. 
The  circle  opened,  and  a  little  elderly  man,  who 
had  evidently  come  in  haste,  confronted  me,  and, 
bowing  very  politely,  addressed  me  in  English. 
His  voice  was  the  most  pitiable  abortion  of  a  voice 
I  had  ever  heard.  While  having  all  the  defects 
in  articulation  of  a  child's  who  is  just  beginning 
to  talk,  it  was  not  even  a  child's  in  strength  of 
tone,  being  in  fact  a  mere  alternation  of  squeaks 
and  whispers  inaudible  a  rod  away.  With  some 
difficulty  I  was,  however,  able  to  follow  him  pretty 
nearly. 

"  As  the  official  interpreter,"  he  said,  "  I  extend 
you  a  cordial  welcome  to  these  islands.  I  was 
sent  for  as  soon  as  you  were  discovered,  but  being 
at  some  distance,  I  was  unable  to  arrive  until  this 
moment.  I  regret  this,  as  my  presence  would 
have  saved  you  embarrassment.  My  countrymen 
desire  me  to  intercede  with  you  to  pardon  the 
wholly  involuntary  and  uncontrollable  mirth  pro- 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME  393 

voked  by  your  attempts  to  communicate  with  them. 
You  see,  they  understood  you  perfectly  well,  but 
could  not  answer  you." 

"  Merciful  heavens !  "  I  exclaimed,  horrified  to 
find  my  surmise  correct ;  "  can  it  be  that  they  are 
all  thus  afflicted  ?  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  the 
only  man  among  them  who  has  the  power  of 
speech  ?  " 

Again  it  appeared  that,  quite  unintentionally, 
I  had  said  something  excruciatingly  funny ;  for 
at  my  speech  there  arose  a  sound  of  gentle  laugh 
ter  from  the  group,  now  augmented  to  quite  an 
assemblage,  which  drowned  the  plashing  of  the 
waves  on  the  beach  at  our  feet.  Even  the  inter 
preter  smiled. 

"  Do  they  think  it  so  amusing  to  be  dumb  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  They  find  it  very  amusing,"  replied  the  inter 
preter,  "that  their  inability  to  speak  should  be 
regarded  by  any  one  as  an  affliction ;  for  it  is  by 
the  voluntary  disuse  of  the  organs  of  articulation 
that  they  have  lost  the  power  of  speech,  and,  as 
a  consequence,  the  ability  even  to  understand 
speech." 

"  But,"  said  I,  somewhat  puzzled  by  this  state 
ment,  "  did  n't  you  just  tell  me  that  they  under 
stood  me,  though  they  could  not  reply,  and  are 
they  not  laughing  now  at  what  I  just  said  ?  " 

"It  is  you  they  understood,  not  your  words," 
answered  the  interpreter.  "  Our  speech  now  is 


394  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY   COME 

gibberish  to  them,  as  unintelligible  in  itself  as 
the  growling  of  animals ;  but  they  know  what  we 
are  saying,  because  they  know  our  thoughts.  You 
must  know  that  these  are  the  islands  of  the  mind- 
readers." 

Such  were  the  circumstances  of  my  introduction  to 
this  extraordinary  people.  The  official  interpreter 
being  charged  by  virtue  of  his  office  with  the 
first  entertainment  of  shipwrecked  members  of  the 
talking  nations,  I  became  his  guest,  and  passed  a 
number  of  days  under  his  roof  before  going  out  to 
any  considerable  extent  among  the  people.  My 
first  impression  had  been  the  somewhat  oppressive 
one  that  the  power  to  read  the  thoughts  of  others 
could  be  possessed  only  by  beings  of  a  superior 
order  to  man.  It  was  the  first  effort  of  the  inter 
preter  to  disabuse  me  of  this  notion.  It  appeared 
from  his  account  that  the  experience  of  the  mind- 
readers  was  a  case  simply  of  a  slight  acceleration, 
from  special  causes,  of  the  course  of  universal 
human  evolution,  which  in  time  was  destined  to 
lead  to  the  disuse  of  speech  and  the  substitution 
of  direct  mental  vision  on  the  part  of  all  races. 
This  rapid  evolution  of  these  islanders  was  ac 
counted  for  by  their  peculiar  origin  and  circum 
stances. 

Some  three  centuries  before  Christ,  one  of  the 
Parthian  kings  of  Persia,  of  the  djmasty  of  the 
Arsacidae,  undertook  a  persecution  of  the  sooth 
sayers  and  magicians  in  his  realms.  These  people 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME  395 

were  credited  with  supernatural  powers  by  popular 
prejudice,  but  in  fact  were  merely  persons  of  spe 
cial  gifts  in  the  way  of  hypnotizing,  mind-reading, 
thought  transference,  and  such  arts,  which  they 
exercised  for  their  own  gain. 

Too  much  in  awe  of  the  soothsayers  to  do  them 
outright  violence,  the  king  resolved  to  banish 
them,  and  to  this  end  put  them,  with  their  fami 
lies,  on  ships  and  sent  them  to  Ceylon.  When, 
however,  the  fleet  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  that 
island,  a  great  storm  scattered  it,  and  one  of  the 
ships,  after  being  driven  for  many  days  before 
the  tempest,  was  wrecked  upon  one  of  an  archipel 
ago  of  uninhabited  islands  far  to  the  south,  where 
the  survivors  settled.  Naturally,  the  posterity  of 
the  parents  possessed  of  such  peculiar  gifts  had 
developed  extraordinary  psychical  powers. 


Having  set  before  them  the  end  of  evolving  a 
new  and  advanced  order  of  humanity,  they  had 
aided  the  development  of  these  powers  by  a  rigid 
system  of  stirpiculture.  The  result  was  that, 
after  a  few  centuries,  mind-reading  became  so  gen 
eral  that  language  fell  into  disuse  as  a  means 
of  communicating  ideas.  For  many  generations 
the  power  of  speech  still  remained  voluntary,  but 
gradually  the  vocal  organs  had  become  atrophied, 
and  for  several  hundred  years  the  power  of  articu 
lation  had  been  wholly  lost.  Infants  for  a  few 
months  after  birth  did,  indeed,  still  emit  inarticu 
late  cries,  but  at  an  age  when  in  less  advanced 


396  TO  WHOM  THIS   MAY   COME 

races  these  cries  began  to  be  articulate,  the  chil 
dren  of  the  mind-readers  developed  the  power  of 
direct  vision,  and  ceased  to  attempt  to  use  the 
voice. 

The  fact  that  the  existence  of  the  mind-readers 
had  never  been  found  out  by  the  rest  of  the  world 
was  explained  by  two  considerations.  In  the  first 
place,  the  group  of  islands  was  small,  and  occupied 
a  corner  of  the  Indian  Ocean  quite  out  of  the 
ordinary  track  of  ships.  In  the  second  place,  the 
approach  to  the  islands  was  rendered  so  desperately 
perilous  by  terrible  currents,  and  the  maze  of  out 
lying  rocks  and  shoals,  that  it  was  next  to  impos 
sible  for  any  ship  to  touch  their  shores  save  as  a 
wreck.  No  ship  at  least  had  ever  done  so  in  the 
two  thousand  years  since  the  mind-readers'  own 
arrival,  and  the  Adelaide  had  made  the  one  hun 
dred  and  twenty-third  such  wreck. 

Apart  from  motives  of  humanity,  the  mind-read 
ers  made  strenuous  efforts  to  rescue  shipwrecked 
persons,  for  from  them  alone,  through  the  inter 
preters,  could  they  obtain  information  of  the  out 
side  world.  Little  enough  this  proved  when,  as 
often  happened,  the  sole  survivor  of  the  shipwreck 
was  some  ignorant  sailor,  who  had  no  news  to 
communicate  beyon(J_Jbhe  latest  varieties  of  fore 
castle  blasphemy^'  My  hosts  gratefully  assured 
me  that,  as  a  person  of  some  little  education,  they 
considered  me  a  veritable  godsend.  No  less  a 
task  was  mine  than  to  relate  to  them  the  history 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME  397 

of  the  world  for  the  past  two  centuries,  and  often 
did  I  wish,  for  their  sakes,  that  I  had  made  a  more 
exact  study  of  it. 

It  is  solely  for  the  purpose  of  communicating 
with  shipwrecked  strangers  of  the  talking  nations 
that  the  office  of  the  interpreters  exists.  When, 
as  from  time  to  time  happens,  a  child  is  born  with 
some  powers  of  articulation,  he  is  set  apart,  and 
trained  to  talk  in  the  interpreters'  college.  Of 
course  the  partial  atrophy  of  the  vocal  organs, 
from  which  even  the  best  interpreters  suffer,  ren 
ders  many  of  the  sounds  of  language  impossible 
for  them.  None,  for  instance,  can  pronounce  w,  J\ 
or  s  ;  and  as  to  the  sound  represented  by  th,  it  is 
five  generations  since  the  last  interpreter  lived 
who  could  utter  it.  But  for  the  occasional  inter 
marriage  of  shipwrecked  strangers  with  the  island 
ers,  it  is  probable  that  the  supply  of  interpreters 
would  have  long  ere  this  quite  failed. 

I  imagine  that  the  very  unpleasant  sensations 
which  followed  the  realization  that  I  was  among 
people  who,  while  inscrutable  to  me,  knew  my 
every  thought,  were  very  much  what  any  one 
would  have  experienced  in  the  same  case.  They 
were  very  comparable  to  the  panic  which  accidental 
nudity  causes  a  person  among  races  whose  custom 
it  is  to  conceal  the  figure  with  drapery.  I  wanted 
to  run  away  and  hide  myself.  If  I  analyzed  my 
feeling,  it  did  not  seem  to  arise  so  much  from  the 
consciousness  of  any  particularly  heinous  secrets, 


398  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 

as  from  the  knowledge  of  a  swarm  of  fatuous,  ill- 
natured,  and  unseemly  thoughts  and  half  thoughts 
concerning  those  around  me,  and  concerning  my 
self,  which  it  was  insufferable  that  any  person 
should  peruse  in  however  benevolent  a  spirit. 
But  while  my  chagrin  and  distress  on  this  account 
were  at  first  intense,  they  were  also  very  short 
lived,  for  almost  immediately  I  discovered  that  the 
very  knowledge  that  my  mind  was  overlooked  Try 
others  operated  to  check  thoughts  that  might  be 
painful  to  them,  and  that,  too,  without  more  effort 
of  the  will  than  a  kindly  person  exerts  to  check 
the  utterance  of  disagreeable  remarks.  As  a  very 
few  lessons  in  the  elements  of  courtesy  cures  a 
decent  person  of  inconsiderate  speaking,  so  a  brief 
experience  among  the  mind-readers  went  far  in  my 
case  to  check  inconsiderate  thinking.  It  must  not 
be  supposed,  however,  that  courtesy  among  the 
mind-readers  prevents  them  from  thinking  point 
edly  and  freely  concerning  one  another  upon  seri 
ous  occasions,  any  more  than  the  finest  courtesy 
among  the  talking  races  restrains  them  from  speak 
ing  to  one  another  with  entire  plainness  when  it 
itjlesirable  to  do  so.  Indeed,  among  the  mind- 
readers,  politeness  never  can  extend  to  the  point 
of  insincerity,  as  among  talking  nations,  seeing 
that  it  is  always  one  another's  real  and  inmost 
thought  that  they  read.  I  may  fitly  mention  here, 
though  it  was  not  till  later  that  I  fully  understood 
why  it  must  necessarily  be  so,  that  one  need  feel 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME  399 

far  less  chagrin  at  the  complete  revelation  of  his 
weaknesses  to  a  mind-reader  than  at  the  slightest 
betrayal  of  them  to  one  of  another  race.  For 
the  very  reason  that  the  mind -reader  reads  all 
your  thoughts,  particular  thoughts  are  judged  with 
reference  to  the  general  tenor  of  thought.  Your 
characteristic  and  habitual  frame  of  mind  is  what 
he  takes  account  of.  No  one  need  fear  being  mis 
judged  by  a  mind-reader  on  account  of  sentiments 
or  emotions  which  are  not  representative  of  the 
real  character  or  general  attitude.  Justice  may, 
indeed,  be  said  to  be  a  necessary  consequence  of 
mind-reading. 

As  regards  the  interpreter  himself,  the  instinct 
of  courtesy  was  not  long  needed  to  check  wanton 
or  offensive  thoughts.  In  all  my  life  before,  I 
had  been  very  slow  to  form  friendships,  but  before 
I  had  been  three  days  in  the  company  of  this 
stranger  of  a  strange  race,  I  had  become  enthusias 
tically  devoted  to  him.  It  was  impossible  not  to 
be.  The  peculiar  joy  of  friendship  is  the  sense 
of  being  understood  by  our  friend  as  we  are  not 
by  others,  and  yet  of  being  loved  in  spite  of  the 
understanding.  Now  here  was  one  whose  every 
word  testified  to  a  knowledge  of  my  secret  thoughts 
and  motives  which  the  oldest  and  nearest  of  my 
former  friends  had  never,  and  could  never,  have 
approximated.  Had  such  a  knowledge  bred  in 
him  contempt  of  me,  I  should  neither  have  blamed 
him  nor  been  at  all  surprised.  Judge,  then,  whether 


400  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 

the  cordial  friendliness  which  he  showed  was  likely 
to  leave  me  indifferent. 

Imagine  my  incredulity  when  he  informed  me 
that  our  friendship  was  not  based  upon  more  than 
ordinary  mutual  suitability  of  temperaments.  The 
faculty  of  mind-reading,  he  explained,  brought 
minds  so  close  together,  and  so  heightened  sym 
pathy,  that  the  lowest  order  of  friendship  between 
mind-readers  implied  a  mutual  delight  such  as 
only  rare  friends  enjoyed  among  other  races.  He 
assured  me  that  later  on,  when  I  came  to  know 
others  of  his  race,  I  should  find,  by  the  far  greater 
intensity  of  sympathy  and  affection  I  should  con 
ceive  for  some  of  them,  how  true  this  saying  was. 

It  may  be  inquired  how,  on  beginning  to  mingle 
with  the  mind-readers  in  general,  I  managed  to 
communicate  with  them,  seeing  that,  while  they 
could  read  my  thoughts,  they  could  not,  like  the 
interpreter,  respond  to  them  by  speech.  I  must 
here  explain  that,  while  these  people  have  no  use 
for  a  spoken  language,  a  written  language  is  need 
ful  for  purposes  of  record.  They  consequently  all 
know  how  to  write.  Do  they,  then,  write  Persian  ? 
Luckily  for  me,  no.  It  appears  that,  for  a  long 
period  after  mind-reading  was  fully  developed,  not 
only  was  spoken  language  disused,  but  also  writ 
ten,  no  records  whatever  having  been  kept  during 
this  period.  The  delight  of  the  people  in  the 
newly  found  power  of  direct  mind-to-mind  vision, 
whereby  pictures  of  the  total  mental  state  were 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY   COME  401 

communicated,  instead  of  the  imperfect  descrip 
tions  of  single  thoughts  which  words  at  best  could 
give,  induced  an  invincible  distaste  for  the  labori 
ous  impotence  of  language. 

When,  however,  the  first  intellectual  intoxica 
tion  had,  after  several  generations,  somewhat  so 
bered  down,  it  was  recognized  that  records  of  the 
past  were  desirable,  and  that  the  despised  medium 
of  words  was  needful  to  preserve  it.  Persian  had 
meanwhile  been  wholly  forgotten.  In  order  to 
avoid  the  prodigious  task  of  inventing  a  complete 
new  language,  the  institution  of  the  interpreters 
was  now  set  up,  with  the  idea  of  acquiring  through 
them  a  knowledge  of  some  of  the  languages  of  the 
outside  world  from  the  mariners  wrecked  on  the 
islands. 

Owing  to  the  fact  that  most  of  the  castaway 
ships  were  English,  a  better  knowledge  of  that 
tongue  was  acquired  than  of  any  other,  and  it 
was  adopted  as  the  written  language  of  the  people. 
As  a  rule,  my  acquaintances  wrote  slowly  and  labo 
riously,  and  yet  the  fact  that  they  knew  exactly 
what  was  in  my  mind  rendered  their  responses  so 
apt  that,  in  my  conversations  with  the  slowest 
speller  of  them  all,  the  interchange  of  thought  was 
as  rapid  and  incomparably  more  accurate  and  satis 
factory  than  the  fastest  talkers  attain  to. 

It  was  but  a  very  short  time  after  I  had  begun 
to  extend  my  acquaintance  among  the  mind-readers 
before  I  discovered  how  truly  the  interpreter  had 


402  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 

told  me  that  I  should  find  others  to  whom,  on 
account  of  greater  natural  congeniality,  I  should 
become  more  strongly  attached  than  I  had  been 
to  him.  This  was  in  no  wise,  however,  because  I 
loved  him  less,  but  them  more.  I  would  fain  write 
particularly  of  some  of  these  beloved  friends,  com 
rades  of  my  heart,  from  whom  I  first  learned  the 
undreamed-of  possibilities  of  human  friendship, 
and  how  ravishing  the  satisfactions  of  sympathy 
may  be./  Who,  among  those  who  may  read  this,  has 
not  known  that  sense  of  a  gulf  fixed  between  soul 
and  soul  which  mocks  love  !  Who  has  not  felt  that 
loneliness  which  oppresses  the  heart  that  loves  it 
best !  Think  no  longer  that  this  gulf  is  eternally 
fixed,  or  is  any  necessity  of  human  nature.  JLLbas 
no  existence  for  the  race  of  our  fellow-men  which 
I  describe,  and  by  that  fact  we  may  be  assured 
that  eventually  it  will  be  bridged  also  for  us.  Like 
the  touch  of  shoulder  to  shoulder,  like  the  clasping 
of  hands,  is  the  contact  of  their  minds  and  their 

_sensation  of  sympathy. 

I  say  that  I  would  fain  speak  more  particularly 
of  some  of  my  friends,  but  waning  strength  forbids, 
and  moreover,  now  that  I  think  of  it,  another  con 
sideration  would  render  any  comparison  of  their 
characters  rather  confusing  than  instructive  to  a 
reader.  This  is  the  fact  that,  in  .common  with  the 

[rest  of  the  mind-readers,  they  had  no  names.  Every 
one  had,  indeed,  an  arbitrary  sign  for  his  desig 
nation  in  records,  but  it  has  no  sound  value.  A 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME  403 

register  of  these  names  is  kept,  so  they  can  at  any 
time  be  ascertained,  but  it  is  very  common  to  meet 
persons  who  have  forgotten  titles  which  are  used 
solely  for  biographical  and  official  purposes.  For 
social  intercourse  names  are  of  course  superfluous, 
for  these  people  accost  one  another  merely  by  a 
mental  act  of  attention,  and  refer  to  third  persons 
by  transferring  their  mental  pictures,  —  something 
as  dumb  persons  might  by  means  of  photographs. 
Something  so,  I  say,  for  in  the  pictures  of  one 
another's  personalities  which  the  mind-readers  con 
ceive,  the  physical  aspect,  as  might  be  expected 
with  people  who  directly  contemplate  each  other's 
minds  and  hearts,  is  a  subordinate  element. 

I  have  already  told  how  my  first  qualms  of  mor 
bid  self-consciousness  at  knowing  that  my  mind 
was  an  open  book  to  all  around  me  disappeared  as 
I  learned  that  the  very  completeness  of  the  disclos 
ure  of  my  thoughts  and  motives  was  a  guarantee 
that  I  would  be  judged  with  a  fairness  and  a  sym 
pathy  such  as  even  self -judgment  cannot  pretend 
to,  affected  as  that  is  by  so  many  subtle  reactions. 
The  assurance  of  being  so  judged  by  every  one 
might  well  seem  an  inestimable  privilege  to  one 
accustomed  to  a  world  in  which  not  even  the  ten- 
derest  love  is  any  pledge  of  comprehension,  and  yet 
I  soon  discovered  that  open-mind  edness  had  a  still 
greater  profit  than  this.  How  shall  I  describe  the 
delightful  exhilaration  of  moral  health  and  clean 
ness,  the  breezy  oxygenated  mental  condition,  which 


t 

L 


404  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY   COME 

resulted  from  the  consciousness  that  I  had  abso 
lutely  nothing  concealed !  Truly  I  may  say  that  I 
enjoyed  myself.  I  think  surely  that  no  one  needs 
to  have  had  my  marvelous  experience  to  sympa 
thize  with  this  portion  of  it.  Are  we  not  all  ready 
to  agree  that  this  having  a  curtained  chamber  where 
we  may  go  to  grovel,  out  of  the  sight  of  our  fellows, 
troubled  only  by  a  vague  apprehension  that  God 
may  look  over  the  top,  is  the  most  demoralizing 
incident  in  the  human  condition  ?  It  is  the  exist 
ence  within  the  soul  of  this  secure  refuge  of  lies 
which  has  always  been  the  despair  of  the  saint  and 
the  exultation  of  the  knave.  It  is  the  foul  cellar 
which  taints  the  whole  house  above,  be  it  never 
so  fine. 

What  stronger  testimony  could  there  be  to  the 
instinctive  consciousness  that  concealment  is  de 
bauching,  and  openness  our  only  cure,  than  the 
world-old  conviction  of  the  virtue  of  confession  for 
the  soul,  and  that  the  uttermost  exposing  of  one's 
worst  and  foulest  is  the  first  step  toward  moral 
health  ?  The  wickedest  man,  if  he  could  but  some 
how  attain  to  writhe  himself  inside  out  as  to  his 
soul,  so  that  its  full  sickness  could  be  seen,  would 
feel  ready  for  a  new  life.  Nevertheless,  owing  to 
the  utter  impotence  of  the  words  to  convey  mental 
conditions  in  their  totality,  or  to  give  other  than 
mere  distortions  of  them,  confession  is,  we  must 
needs  admit,  but  a  mockery  of  that  longing  for 
self-revelation  to  which  it  testifies.  But  think 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY   COME  405 

what  health  and  soundness  there  must  be  for  souls 
among  a  people  who  see  in  every  face  a  conscience 
which,  unlike  their  own,  they  cannot  sophisticate, 
who  confess  one  another  with  a  glance,  and  shrive 
with  a  smile  !  Ah,  friends,  let  me  now  predict, 
though  ages  may  elapse  before  the  slow  event  shall 
justify  me,  that  in  no  way  will  the  mutual  vision 
of  minds,  when  at  last  it  shall  be  perfected,  so  en 
hance  the  blessedness  of  mankind  as  by  rending 
the  veil  of  self,  and  leaving  no  spot  of  darkness  in 
the  mind  for  lies  to  hide  in.  Then  shall  the  soul 
no  longer  be  a  coal  smoking  among  ashes,  but  a 
star  in  a  crystal  sphere. 

From  what  I  have  said  of  the  delights  which 
friendship  among  the  mind-readers  derives  from 
the  perfection  of  the  mental  rapport,  it  may  be 
imagined  how  intoxicating  must  be  the  experience 
when  one  of  the  friends  is  a  woman,  and  the  subtle 
attractions  and  correspondences  of  sex  touch  with 
passion  the  intellectual  sympathy.  With  my  first 
venturing  into  society  I  had  begun,  to  their  extreme 
amusement,  to  fall  in  love  with  the  women  right 
and  left.  In  the  perfect  frankness  which  is  the 
condition  of  all  intercourse  among  this  people, 
these  adorable  women  told  me  that  what  I  felt  was 
only  friendship,  which  was  a  very  good  thing,  but 
wholly  different  from  love,  as  I  should  well  know 
if  I  were  beloved.  It  was  difficult  to  believe  that 
the  melting"  emotions  which  I  had  experienced  in 

fa^^^^f^l^^0q^^pt^0tl^ 

their  company  were  the  result  merely  of  the  friendly 


406  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 

and  kindly  attitude  of  their  minds  toward  mine ; 
but  when  I  found  that  I  was  affected  in  the  same 
way  by  every  gracious  woman  I  met,  I  had  to  make 
up  my  mind  that  they  must  be  right  about  it,  and 
that  I  should  have  to  adapt  myself  to  a  world  in 
which,  friendship  being  a  passion,  love  must  needs 
be  nothing  less  than  rapture. 

The  homely  proverb,  "  Every  Jack  has  his  Gill," 
may,  I  suppose,  be  taken  to  mean  that  for  all  men 
there  are  certain  women  expressly  suited  by  mental 
and  moral  as  well  as  by  physical  constitution.  It 
is  a  thought  painful,  rather  than  cheering,  that  this 
may  be  the  truth,  so  altogether  do  the  chances  pre 
ponderate  against  the  ability  of  these  elect  ones  to 
recognize  each  other  even  if  they  meet,  seeing  that 
speech  is  so  inadequate  and  so  misleading  a  medium 
of  self-revelation.  But  among  the  mind-readers, 
the  search  for  one's  ideal  mate  is  a  quest  reasona 
bly  sure  of  being  crowned  with  success,  and  no  one 
dreams  of  wedding  unless  it  be ;  for  so  to  do,  they 
consider,  would  be  to  throw  away  the  choicest  bless 
ing  of  life,  and  not  alone  to  wrong  themselves  and 
their  unfound  mates,  but  likewise  those  whom  they 
themselves  and  those  undiscovered  mates  might 
wed.  Therefore,  passionate  pilgrims,  they  go  from 
isle  to  isle  till  they  find  each  other,  and,  as  the 
population  of  the  islands  is  but  small,  the  pil 
grimage  is  not  often  long. 

When  I  met  her  first  we  were  in  company,  and 
I  was  struck  by  the  sudden  stir  and  the  looks  of 


TO  WHOM  THIS   MAY   COME  407 

touched  and  smiling  interest  with  which  all  around 
turned  and  regarded  us,  the  women  with  moistened 
eyes.  They  had  read  her  thought  when  she  saw 
me,  but  this  I  did  not  know,  neither  what  was  the 
custom  in  these  matters,  till  afterward.  But  I 
knew,  from  the  moment  she  first  fixed  her  eyes  on 
me,  and  I  felt  her  mind  brooding  upon  mine,  how 
truly  I  had  been  told  by  those  other  women  that 
the  feeling  with  which  they  had  inspired  me  was 
not  love. 

With  people  who  become  acquainted  at  a  glance, 
and  old  friends  in  an  hour,  wooing  is  naturally  not 
a  long  process.  Indeed,  it  may  be  said  that  between 
lovers  among  mind-readers  there  is  no  wooing,  but 
merely  recognition.  The  day  after  we  met,  she 
became  mine. 

Perhaps  I  cannot  better  illustrate  how  subordi 
nate  the  merely  physical  element  is  in  the  impression 
which  mind-readers  form  of  their  friends  than  by 
mentioning  an  incident  that  occurred  some  months 
after  our  union.  This  was  my  discovery,  wholly 
by  accident,  that  my  love,  in  whose  society  I  had 
almost  constantly  been,  had  not  the  least  idea  what 
was  the  color  of  my  eyes,  or  whether  my  hair  and 
complexion  were  light  or  dark.  Of  course,  as  soon 
as  I  asked  her  the  question,  she  read  the  answer  in 
my  mind,  but  she  admitted  that  she  had  previously 
had  no  distinct  impression  on  those  points.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  in  the  blackest  midnight  I  should 


408  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 

come  to  her,  she  would  not  need  to  ask  who  the 
comer  was.  It  is  by  the  mind,  not  the  eye,  that 
these  people  know  one  another.  It  is  really  only 
in  their  relations  to  soulless  and  inanimate  things 
that  they  need  eyes  at  all. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  their  disregard 
of  one  another's  bodily  aspect  grows  out  of  any 
ascetic  sentiment.  It  is  merely  a  necessary  con 
sequence  of  their  power  of  directly  apprehending 
mind,  that  whenever  mind  is  closely  associated 
with  matter  the  latter  is  comparatively  neglected 
on  account  of  the  greater  interest  of  the  former, 
suffering  as  lesser  things  always  do  when  placed  in 
immediate  contrast  with  greater.  Art  is  with  them 
confined  to  the  inanimate,  the  human  form  having, 
for  the  reason  mentioned,  ceased  to  inspire  the 
artist.  It  will  be  naturally  and  quite  correctly  in 
ferred  that  among  such  a  race  physical  beauty  is 
not  the  important  factor  in  human  fortune  and 
felicity  that  it  elsewhere  is.  The  absolute  open 
ness  of  their  minds  and  hearts  to  one  another  makes 
their  happiness  far  more  dependent  •  on  the  moral 
and  mental  qualities  of  their  companions  than  upon 
their  physical.  A  genial  temperament,  a  wide- 
grasping,  godlike  intellect,  a  poet  soul,  are  incom 
parably  more  fascinating  to  them  than  the  most 
dazzling  combination  conceivable  of  mere  bodily 
graces. 

A  woman  of  mind  and  heart  has  no  more  need 
of  beauty  to  win  love  in  these  islands  than  a  beauty 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME  409 

elsewhere  of  mind  or  heart.  I  should  mention 
here,  perhaps,  that  this  race,  which  makes  so  little 
account  of  physical  beauty,  is  itself  a  singularly 
handsome  one.  This  is  owing  doubtless  in  part  to 
the  absolute  compatibility  of  temperaments  in  all 
the  marriages,  and  partly  also  to  the  reaction  upon 
the  body  of  a  state  of  ideal  mental  and  moral  health 

and  placidity.  

Not  being  myself  a  mind-reader,  the  fact  that 
my  love  was  rarely  beautiful  in  form  and  face  had 
doubtless  no  little  part  in  attracting  my  devotion. 
This,  of  course,  she  knew,  as  she  knew  all  my 
thoughts,  and,  knowing  my  limitations,  tolerated 
and  forgave  the  element  of  sensuousness  in  my  pas 
sion^  But  if  it  must  have  seemed  to  her  so  little 
worthy  in  comparison  with  the  high  spiritual  com 
munion  which  her  race  know  as  love,  to  me  it  be 
came,  by  virtue  of  her  almost  superhuman  relation 
to  me,  an  ecstasy  more  ravishing  surely  than  any 
lover  of  my  race  tasted  before.  The  ache  at  the 
heart  of  the  intensest  love  is  the  impotence  of 
words  to  make  it  perfectly  understood  to  its  object. 
But  my  passion  was  without  this  pang,  for  my 
heart  was  absolutely  open  to  her  I  loved.  Lovers 
may  imagine,  but  I  cannot  describe,  the  ecstatic 
thrill  of  communion  into  which  this  consciousness 
transformed  every  tender  emotion.  As  I  consid-  1 
ered  what  mutual  love  must  be  where  both  parties 
are  mind-readers,  I  realized  the  high  communion 
which  my  sweet  companion  had  sacrificed  for  me. 


410  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 

She  might  indeed  comprehend  her  lover  and  his 
love  for  her,  but  the  higher  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  she  was  comprehended  by  him  and  her  love 
understood,  she  had  foregone.  For  that  I  should 
ever  attain  the  power  of  mind-reading  was  out  of 
the  question,  the  faculty  never  having  been  devel 
oped  in  a  single  lifetime. 

Why  my  inability  should  move  my  dear  com 
panion  to  such  depths  of  pity  I  was  not  able  fully 
to  understand  until  I  learned  that  mind-reading  is 
chiefly  held  desirable,  not  for  the  knowledge  of 
others  which  it  gives  its  possessors,  but  fojr  the 

'.  self-knowledge  which  is  its  reflex  effect.  Of  all 
they  see  in  the  minds  of  others,  that  which  con 
cerns  them  most  is  the  reflection  of  themselves,  the 
photographs  of  their  own  characters.  The  most 
obvious  consequence  of  the  self-knowledge  thus 
forced  upon  them  is  to  render  them  alike  incapable 
of  self-conceit  or  self -depreciation.  Every  one  must 
needs  always  think  of  himself  as  he  is,  being  no 
more  able  to  do  otherwise  than  is  a  man  in  a  hall 
of  mirrors  to  cherish  delusions  as  to  his  personal 
appearance. 

But  self-knowledge  means  to  the  mind-readers 
much  more  than  this,  —  nothing  less,  indeed,  than 

i  a  shifting  of  the  sense  of  identity.  When  a  man 
sees  himself  in  a  mirror,  he  is  compelled  to  dis 
tinguish  between  the  bodily  self  he  sees  and  his 
real  self,  which  is  within  and  unseen.  When  in 
turn  the  mind-reader  comes  to  see  the  mental  and 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME  411 

moral  self  reflected  in  other  minds  as  in  mirrors, 
the  same  thing  happens.  He  is  compelled  to  dis 
tinguish  between  this  mental  and  moral  self  which 
has  been  made  objective  to  him,  and  can  be  con 
templated  by  him  as  impartially  as  if  it  were 
another's,  from  the  inner  ego  which  still  remains 
subjective,  unseen,  and  indefinable.  In  this  inner 
ego  the  mind-readers  recognize  the  essential  iden- " 
~trty~ iand "being,  the  noumenal  self,  the  core  of  the 
soul,  and  the  true  hiding  of  its  eternal  life,  to 
which  the  mind  as  well  as  the  body  is  but  the 
garment  of  a  day. 

The  effect  of  such  a  philosophy  as  this  —  which, 
indeed,  with  the  mind -readers  is  rather  an  in 
stinctive  consciousness  than  a  philosophy  —  must 
obviously  be  to  impart  a  sense  of  wonderful  supe 
riority  to  the  vicissitudes  of  this  earthly  state,  and 
a  singular  serenity  in  the  midst  of  the  haps  and 
mishaps  which  threaten  or  befall  the  personality. 
They  did  indeed  appear  to  me,  as  I  never  dreamed 
men  could  attain  to  be,  lords  of  themselves. 

It  was  because  I  might  not  hope  to  attain  this 
enfranchisement  from  the  false  ego  of  the  apparent 
self,  without  which  life  seemed  to  her  race  scarcely 
worth  living,  that  my  love  so  pitied  me. 

But  I  must  hasten  on,  leaving  a  thousand  things 
unsaid,  to  relate  the  lamentable  catastrophe  to 
which  it  is  owing  that,  instead  of  being  still  a 
resident  of  those  blessed  islands,  in  the  full  enjoy 
ment  of  that  intimate  and  ravishing  companionship 


412  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 

which  by  contrast  would  forever  dim  the  pleasures 
of  all  other  human  society,  I  recall  the  bright  pic 
ture  as  a  memory  under  other  skies. 

Among  a  people  who  are  compelled  by  the  very 
constitution  of  their  minds  to  put  themselves  in 
the  places  of  others,  the  sympathy  which  is  the 
inevitable  consequence  of  perfect  comprehension 
renders  env^y,  hatred,  and  uncharitableness  im 
possible.  But  of  course  there  are  people  less 
genially  constituted  than  others,  and  these  are 
necessarily  the  objects  of  a  certain  distaste  on  the 
part  of  associates.  Now,  owing  to  the  unhindered 
impact  of  minds  upon  one  another,  the  anguish  of 
persons  so  regarded,  despite  the  tenderest  consid 
eration  of  those  about  them,  is  so  great  that  they 
beg  the  grace  of  exile,  that,  being  out  of  the 
way,  people  may  think  less  frequently  upon  them. 
There  are  numerous  small  islets,  scarcely  more 
than  rocks,  lying  to  the  north  of  the  archipelago, 
and  on  these  the  unfortunates  are  permitted  to 
live.  Only  one  lives  on  each  islet,  as  they  cannot 
endure  each  other  even  as  well  as  the  more  happily 
constituted  can  endure  them.  From  time  to  time 
supplies  of  food  are  taken  to  them,  and  of  course, 
any  time  they  wish  to  take  the  risk,  they  are 
permitted  to  return  to  society. 

Now,  as  I  have  said,  the  fact  which,  even  more 
than  their  out-of-the-way  location,  makes  the  islands 
of  the  mind-readers  unapproachable,  is  the  violence 
with  which  the  great  antarctic  current,  owing 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME  413 

probably  to  some  configuration  of  the  ocean  bed, 
together  with  the  innumerable  rocks  and  shoals, 
flows  through  and  about  the  archipelago. 

Ships  making  the  islands  from  the  southward 
are  caught  by  this  current  and  drawn  among  the 
rocks,  to  their  almost  certain  destruction ;  while, 
owing  to  the  violence  with  which  the  current  sets 
to  the  north,  it  is  not  possible  to  approach  at  all 
from  that  direction,  or  at  least  it  has  never  been 
accomplished.  Indeed,  so  powerful  are  the  currents 
that  even  the  boats  which  cross  the  narrow  straits 
between  the  main  islands  and  the  islets  of  the 
unfortunate,  to  carry  the  latter  their  supplies,  are 
ferried  over  by  cables,  not  trusting  to  oar  or  sail. 

The  brother  of  my  love  had  charge  of  one  of 
the  boats  engaged  in  this  transportation,  and,  being 
desirous  of  visiting  the  islets,  I  accepted  an  invi 
tation  to  accompany  him  on  one  of  his  trips.  I 
know  nothing  of  how  the  accident  happened,  but 
in  the  fiercest  part  of  the  current  of  one  of  the 
straits  we  parted  from  the  cable  and  were  swept 
out  to  sea.  There  was  no  question  of  stemming 
the  boiling  current,  our  utmost  endeavors  barely 
sufficing  to  avoid  being  dashed  to  pieces  on  the 
rocks.  From  the  first,  there  was  no  hope  of  our 
winning  back  to  the  land,  and  so  swiftly  did  we 
drift  that  by  noon  —  the  accident  having  befallen 
in  the  morning  —  the  islands,  which  are  low-lying, 
had  sunk  beneath  the  southwestern  horizon. 

Among  these  mind-readers,  distance  is  not  an  in- 


414  TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME 

superable  obstacle  to  the  transfer  of  thought.  My 
companion  was  in  communication  with  our  friends, 
and  from  time  to  time  conveyed  to  me  messages  of 
anguish  from  my  dear  love ;  for,  being  well  aware 
of  the  nature  of  the  currents  and  the  unapproach- 
ableness  of  the  islands,  those  we  had  left  behind,  as 
well  as  we  ourselves,  knew  well  we  should  see  each 
other's  faces  no  more.  For  five  days  we  continued 
to  drift  to  the  northwest,  in  no  danger  of  star 
vation,  owing  to  our  lading  of  provisions,  but 
constrained  to  uninterrnitting  watch  and  ward  by 
the  roughness  of  the  weather.  On  the  fifth  day 
my  companion  died  from  exposure  and  exhaustion. 
He  died  very  quj^Jtly^ —  indeed,  with  great  appear 
ance  of  relief.  The  life  of  the  mind-readers  while 
yet  they  are  in  the  body  is  so  largely  spiritual  that 
the  idea  of  an  existence  wholly  so,  which  seems 
vague  and  chill  to  us,  suggests  to  them  a  state  only 
slightly  more  refined  than  they  already  know  on 
earth. 

After  that  I  suppose  I  must  have  fallen  into 
an  unconscious  state,  from  which  I  roused  to  find 
myself  on  an  American  ship  bound  for  New  York, 
surrounded  by  people  whose  only  means  of  commu 
nicating  with  one  another  is  to  keep  up  while  to 
gether  a  constant  clatter  of  hissing,  guttural,  and 
explosive  noises,  eked  out  by  all  manner  of  facial 
contortions  and  bodily  gestures.  I  frequently  find 
myself  staring  open-mouthed  at  those  who  address 
me,  too  much  struck  by  their  grotesque  appearance 
to  bethink  myself  of  replying. 


TO  WHOM  THIS  MAY  COME  415 

I  find  that  I  shall  not  live  out  the  voyage,  and  I 
do  not  care  to.  From  my  experience  of  the  people 
on  the  ship,  I  can  judge  how  I  should  fare  on  land 
amid  the  stunning  Babel  of  a  nation  of  talkers. 
And  my  friends,  —  God  bless  them !  how  lonely  I 
should  feel  in  their  very  presence  !  Nay,  what 
satisfaction  or  consolation,  what  but  bitter  mockery, 
could  I  ever  more  find  in  such  human  sympathy 
and  companionship  as  suffice  others  and  once  suf 
ficed  me,  —  I  who  have  seen  and  known  what  I  have 
seen  and  known !  Ah,  yes,  doubtless  it  is  far  bet 
ter  I  should  die  ;  but  the  knowledge  of  the  things 
that  I  have  seen  I  feel  should  not  perish  with  me. 
For  hope's  sake,  men  should  not  miss  the  glimpse 
of  the  higher,  sun-bathed  reaches  of  the  upward 
path  they  plod.  So  thinking,  I  have  written  out 
some  account  of  my  wonderful  experience,  though 
briefer  far,  by  reason  of  my  weakness,  than  fits  the 
greatness  of  the  matter.  The  captain  seems  an 
honest,  well-meaning  man,  and  to  him  I  shall  con 
fide  the  narrative,  charging  him,  on  touching  shore, 
to  see  it  safely  in  the  hands  of  some  one  who  will 
bring  it  to  the  world's  ear. 

NOTE.  —  The  extent  of  my  own  connection  with 
the  foregoing  document  is  sufficiently  indicated 
by  the  author  himself  in  the  final  paragraph. 
—  E.  B. 


STfce  Htoersfoe 

CAMBRIDGE,    MASSACHUSETTS,    U.    S.    A. 

EI.ECTROTYPED   AND   PRINTED    BY 

H.   O.   HOUGHTON  AND  CO. 


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